I Hear You Callin'
by calltheangels
Summary: Plans change. People change.  Sequel to 'In Fine Spirits.'
1. Pins and Needles

It'd been a year. One whole solid fucking year since Rocco died.

Since the Yakavetta trial, there had been no more bloodshed. No more violence. Our weapons were buried under three feet of dirt in our father's barn. And now we walked around as the good catholic boys were should have been, as if we had never touched a gun in our lives. As if none of it ever happened.

It didn't feel right.

I sat on the docks overlooking the pier. We- meaning Connor, Ericka, and myself- were living in a little port town outside of Dublin. Big enough to where we could blend in, and small enough to where crime wasn't a huge issue_. Because ignoring the fact that evil is out there will make it go away_. I scowled at myself. What was I complaining about? No more looking over our shoulders, no more hiding from the cops and stalking bad guys. A normal state of existence- normal jobs, routines that we had settled into. Connor had his white picket fence life now. And I could tell by way he walked around- light bouncy steps, head held high, face alight- that he wouldn't have it any other way.

I, on the other hand, wasn't so content, and I knew it was showing the longer we stayed here. It gnawed at me. Sure, we were murderers, killing bad guys in cold blood. But at least then I had a sense of some fucking purpose. Now, not so much. I woke up, went to school (somehow, Ericka convinced me to enroll at a small school in Dublin), went to work, came home, drank a little, slept….repeat process. That was it. And it was driving me fucking insane.

It was a cold night. Then again, every night is a cold night in Ireland. My breath came out in little puffs of steam; I wanted a smoke, but that required me removing my hands from the warmth of my pockets. _Too fucking cold for that._ I stared out at the black inky water of the pier, wondering just how cold it was. I hoped I'd never find out.

I heard the shuffling of feet somewhere behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, tense and nervous; I felt my hand reach for a gun that wasn't there.

On the dock kitty corner to the one I was sitting one was a man and a female. At first glance, it looked as if they were going for a midnight walk on the pier. Then it became clear that something wasn't right. The female was walking slow and awkwardly, the man holding her around the waist. Slowly, I got up and walked quietly towards where they were. I hid behind a stack of crates that were sitting idly on the docks, straining to hear the conversation and vaguely wondering how they hadn't spotted me. I couldn't make out much of what was being said, but apparently there wasn't much need for talk.

"…please don't." I heard a soft female voice crack with desperation.

"Get on your knees, Jaime." The guy's voice gave me the creeps. Chills ran down my spine.

There was the sound of a belt buckle being unfastened and of a zipper being undone. I didn't like where this was going. Not at all. Without much of a plan in mind I stepped out from behind the crates, willing my eyes to block out the scene in front of me. The guy had his back to me. I heard the girl- Jaime, as he called her- crying quietly. My stomach rolled violently, blood racing to my head.

The fucker was going to die.

I sprinted towards them, shouting curses in a random language. Probably German. I don't know why, but German was always the language I gravitated towards when I was pissed. The guy looked up and turned towards me, knife in one hand, the other hand wound in Jaime's hair. "The fuck?" He looked more inconvenienced then anything, like he wasn't fazed one bit by the fact he had his extra appendage hanging out in the breeze.

"Get away from her," I said evenly, stopping short once I saw the glint of metal in his hand.

"Oh, so you know this whore?" he glanced down at her, looking bored by the proceedings. "She yours?'

Since reasoning was obviously not going to work with this guy, I threw all rational thought out the window and lunged at him. The guy abruptly turned and kicked the girl square in the chest; she tumbled into the cold water with a small cry. I stopped as I saw her go over. The guy ran past me, bumping shoulders. I resisted the urge to ran after him and beat him to a bloody pulp, because the girl hadn't resurfaced yet. I waited for her to come back up for air; the man had a good head start, but I was sure I could catch him. I just needed to see the girl to show. A good minute passed of looking between the water and the man's retreating back before I realized I had no choice but to go in after her.

Pins and needles. A million pins and needles just tore into me as I pulled off my coat and dove in headfirst into the pier, the cold stealing my breath away. I fought to the surface for air and looked around for air bubbles or ripples in the water- anything to tell me where the girl was. I saw movement under the water, a few feet from me. I took a breath and swam over, feeling around. My fingertips brushed a feathery feeling substance; I grabbed a hold of it and yanked up upwards. A blonde head popped above the surface- the girl, Jaime, was pale and her lips a dark blue, completely passed out. Frantically I grabbed her and pulled her towards me, trying to figure out how to get her out of the freezing sea.

The only option was to throw her onto the dock; my stiff arms had a difficult time raising her up high enough. I clambered from the water onto the wooden planks, not allowing myself to think about how cold I actually was or how hard it was to move around. I crawled on my hands and knees to her limp form and put an ear close to her face; she wasn't breathing.

_Fuck. Fuck! How does CPR go again? _I felt myself panicking, heart racing somewhere in my throat. Eventually, I went with Connor's time tested method of solving things- taking ideas from movies and using them in real life. I placed my hands over Jaime's heart and pumped a few times, then, gingerly, tilted her head back and blew a breath of air into her mouth. I repeated it over and over again, hoping- almost praying- for some movement from the girl.

The girl finally coughed and spit up seawater, rolling onto her side as she spluttered and gasped for air. I awkwardly patted her back as she coughed, relieved that she wasn't dead, but not entirely sure what to do. She rolled back onto her back and stared up at the sky, looking straight past me. Her lips were still blue; she shook as she laid there. A voice in my head- one that sounded frighteningly like Ericka's- yelled at me. _Jackass! Ever hear of hypothermia? _

"Jaime, hey, listen to me. I'm going to take you to my house, my brother's fiancé is a nurse, she can help you. Okay? Stay with me, I'm not going to hurt you." She didn't respond to me. I picked her up and carried her to the car as fast as I could- though I was pretty sure a zombie could move faster than me at that point. I got in the car and cranked up the heater, going back for my coat and throwing it on the girl.

I talked to her as I drove towards the house, desperate to get her help. God forbid I was the reason she died. I could not- would not- have another innocent life taken over something so stupid. "Talk to me, Jaime. Where are ya from, Jaime?" I heard somewhere that saying a person's name over and over would jog a person's brain- make them more responsive. Maybe it worked, because I finally got a reaction out of her.

"New York." She said softly, voice scratchy, eyes closed.

"No, no! None of that shit. Keep your eyes open, stay awake." My voice was a lot harsher than what I meant for it to be, but it was better to keep up the act- it wouldn't much help matters for her to know I was truly freaked out. I took a deep breath as she opened her eyes, looking through the windshield as we drove. "Uh," I searched around for something to ask her, to keep her awake."What's your favorite color, Jaime?"

"Blue." Her voice was weak and squeaky, probably the cold.

"Favorite book?"

She coughed and looked at me, glassy eyed. "Who are you?" she asked sluggishly, ignoring the question I had asked her. She stared at me, squinting, like she was trying to place my face. I cleared my throat, mouth suddenly dry.

"Murphy." I said carefully. "My name is Murphy."

She closed her eyes again, looking almost…relieved. I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on her face. "Murphy." She breathed. "You're a saint…." Her voice trailed off and she was asleep again, leaving me alone to face the quiet of the car and the continual tidal wave of panic washing over me.


	2. Pandora's Box

disclaimer- yada yada blah blah not mine.

**AN- Alright! So, I'm going to be honest here and say I really am not sure where this story is heading- but wherever it does go, it's going to be one hell of a roller coaster ride. I'd appreciate any and all feedback you want to give out. Or if you want to say something random just because you can, well that's cool too. :) Either way, I love hearing from the readers! Thank you guys for reading! (+10 points for redundancy!)**

A year. One year since Rocco had died right in front of us.

It was strange, knowing that a year ago we had been trapped in Joe Yakavetta's basement, handcuffed to chairs and beaten to hell, watching Papa Joe pull the trigger on his gun as he shot Roc right in the chest…and not being able to damn thing but scream profanities and save ourselves.

The same night, I almost lost Ericka- and we lost our unborn children.

A year ago, I sat in a hotel room with my head on my brother's shoulder, crying and feeling nothing short of hopeless. I don't think my faith had ever been so shaken then in that one god-awful night.

Fate is a sick and twisted thing. This much I'd discovered as a Saint. Murphy and I had left Ireland to make a better life for ourselves, only to end up coming back to make, well, a life of any kind. So far it seemed to be working out. Murphy was going to school- under a pseudo name Smecker had given him- for art. He seemed to be enjoying the whole experience; he was certainly doing better in college than he ever did in high school. Ericka had landed a job as the head ER nurse at one of the bigger hospitals in Dublin- also under a pseudo name. As for me, I worked as a waiter at an upscale restaurant. Some would frown on the job. I actually loved it. I made damn good money too; essentially I was being paid to talk to people. It wasn't anything that required a huge amount of skill and it wasn't a job that garnered a whole lot of self-satisfaction, but I was content with it. At the very least, it was _safe_- and that's all I really cared about.

Life wasn't the adrenaline filled, roller coaster ride it used to be. By comparison, the life we lived now was dreadfully dull.

But I was fine with a boring life. I was happy.

I looked over to Ericka, who was sleeping soundly next to me. I felt a smile cross my face as I took in her beauty. It was one of those simple things that made my life richer. I pulled her closer to me, burying my face in her hair, feeling myself begin to drift off into a peaceful sleep. A door slammed open from somewhere downstairs. _Just Murphy…_I thought groggily. Murph's voice floated up the stairs, followed by the loud _thud_ of footsteps. I squeezed my eyes shut, ignoring the sounds. _Probably drunk. _

My bedroom door burst open. "The fuck are you doing?" I asked through gritted teeth, the light from the hallway blinding me.

"There's a girl downstairs-"

"Good. Keep it down, I don't want to hear that shit."

I felt a fist make contact with my jaw. Ow. Alright, maybe it _wasn't _the time to give him shit. "No, there's a girl downstairs. I need Ericka to look at her. She might be going into shock or some shit…"

Not bothering to hear the rest, I sighed and sat up, shaking Ericka's shoulder. She stirred awake and upon looking at the clock by our bed, glared at me."The fuck, Conn?"

I held my hands up in front of me. "Murph says he needs to you to check someone out."

She groaned. "That is _his _problem to interrogate his date on her past sex life-"

"No, you jackass!" Murph gave us a rather miffed look. "There is someone downstairs who needs to be looked at. As in she could potentially be hurt, I don't fucking know what to look for or else I wouldn't have fucking bothered." He paused, taking a much needed breath. These days, it didn't take much to set Murph off; his temper was atrocious. "Look. Cuts and bullet holes or whatever- that I can deal with. At least that shit I can see. I don't know if she's okay or how to fix it. Please… go check her out. Make sure she's okay?" He had that tone in his voice- the tone that came out only when he was seriously worried. It obviously pulled on Ericka's heartstrings; she sighed and rolled out of bed, hair tangled up.

"Alright, Murph, got it. Moving." She pushed him out of the way and shuffled down the stairs, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she walked.

I raised my eyebrows at my twin. "What's going on?"

He clenched his jaw tight, the way he always did when he was fuming over something. He was also shaking like crazy. _Strange_. "Some guy threw her in the pier after I walked up on her sucking him off."

"Uh…." I said, wondering if my brother had lost all common sense. "You sure she's not a hooker?"

"She's not." He said hotly. "Christ, she was bawling her fuckin' head off and the guy had a knife to her throat. I really doubt she's hooking." He paused. "I think she's an exchange student from the states, she said she was from New York….." Another pause. I saw the gears in my brother's head turning. He was leaving something out, some important detail. I decided to leave it alone for the moment.

I noticed his clothes were soaked- apparently my attention to detail had vanished . "Uh, Murph? Did you _dive_ in after her?"

He nodded at me. "Had to. She can't swim apparently. Fuck, I could hardly swim in that shit, the water was freezing."

Ladies and gentleman. My brother, the hero.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he shivered. I rolled my eyes at him. "Well what the hell are ya standing there for? Go get some dry clothes, don't be retarded." He stared at me for a second and then muttered, "Oh. Right…." He walked off to his room slowly, rubbing his eyes. I sighed at my brother's dumb luck as I made my way down the stairs. It just _had_ to be _him_ to stumble across that girl.

Ericka was kneeling in front of a soaking wet girl on the couch. She had short blonde hair, and was clutching onto Murphy's coat like it was a life jacket. She was also only half coherent, judging by the dazed look she had on her face.

"Diagnosis?"

"It's not hypothermia or shock or whatever Murph was going on about, but she is really fucking cold." Ericka gave a frustrated sigh."Con, do me a favor and go make some tea? I'm gonna get her some dry clothes here so she doesn't freeze to death. C'mon, come with me…" I left the living room as Ericka started moving the girl upstairs.

Murphy appeared a few minutes later as I stared at the tea kettle on the stove from across the room, willing it to heat up faster. He looked a little better now that he wasn't in drenched clothing. _He's not shaking at least. That's good. _He hopped up on the counter and swung his feet back and forth a little. "Jaime gonna be alright?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"Jaime?"

"The girl…"

"Oh. Right." I felt like an idiot. Who else would Jaime be? "She'll be fine. She's just cold. And tired. I hear near death experiences wear a person out."

He snorted. "God knows we've had our fair share of them…"

He looked up, just for the briefest moment, and I saw it then- that spark, that look I had come to know so well during our stint as God's volun-told assassins. He missed the lifestyle. The planning out of hits, chasing down bad guys, taking them out- that was Murph's shit right there. I felt my stomach drop a little. This was not at all what I wanted or needed. I didn't want to be a Saint again. I never wanted to pray over a dead man's body again.

Hell, I just never wanted to kill a man again. That was simple enough, right?

Before I could call Murph out, the door to the kitchen swung open, Ericka walking in with the girl apparently named Jaime. She looked a little less corpse like now, color slowly returning to her face. Her eyes found Murphy's, and she immediately looked back down. Murph's eyes never left her, like he expected her to drop dead where she stood. "You alright, love?"

She nodded, cheeks almost reddening to a blush. It was suddenly clear that she was very young- maybe sixteen or seventeen. "Yeah. Um, thanks for helping me back there." Her voice was quiet, though I couldn't tell if that was how she normally talked or if she was quiet from sheer exhaustion. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking anywhere but Murphy.

The tea kettle shrieked behind me, breaking the sudden awkward silence that had fallen. I pulled it off the burner, the heat from the metal coils rising up to greet me. I had a sudden vivid memory of Murphy slamming an iron down onto a burner, frantically moving about as Rocco and I yelled back and forth at each other as we bled all over Ericka's surgically sterile kitchen. I cringed at the memory. _And Murph wants to do that shit all over again…_

"Conn? Y'all right?" Ericka was at my shoulder, looking concerned. I shook myself a little. "Yeah. I'm fine…" Ericka raised her eyebrows at me, but said nothing more while I poured hot water into ceramic mugs and passed them around to everyone.

Jaime looked up at Ericka, looking confused. "Where are you from, ma'am?"

Ericka gave her a hard look. "Do NOT call me a ma'am. I am NOT old." Jaime nodded, eyes widening a little. "Um, right. Sorry…..I just was wondering, because you don't talk like they do." she cleared her throat. I bit back a grin. Ericka could be downright scary when you first met her- then factor in a lack of sleep and she was a total monster.

"To answer your question, I'm from the states. Texas, to be specific. That's why I've got an entirely different accent from what these fuckers do." She jerked her head in mine and Murphy's direction. Jaime nodded her head in understanding. "Gotcha…"

Murph raised his eyebrows at her. "You said you're from Chicago, right?" The unasked question hovered in the air. _What the fuck are you doing here?_

She nodded. "Yeah…. I'm visiting my cousin over my spring break. She's probably flipping out that I haven't called her yet…." Her voice trailed off as she gazed miserably into her mug of tea. "What are the odds, the first time I'm away from home and I almost get myself killed….. God, I'm an idiot."

Murph took a huge gulp of tea. "How'd you even wind up with that creep?"

Jaime cringed. "I was at a bar dropping off my cousin's textbooks- she asked me to bring them, since she had to hit up the library after she got off work. Guy grabbed me off the street, dragged me to the pier. Told me to….. well, you saw what went down." She tucked a lock of damp hair behind her ear nervously. "Can I call my cousin?" She asked, the question coming out in a rush.

"O'course." I pointed to the landline on the wall behind here. "Feel free." She hesitated for a moment before turning and picking up the phone. Ericka rubbed her eyes. "I'm going back to bed. Unless she drops dead, don't wake me up." She shuffled out of the room; I heard her sluggish footsteps going up the stairs. Murphy pulled a face. "She's a real treat." He said sarcastically.

"She's just tired." I said simply. Murph shrugged and turned his attention back to Jaime, who was in the middle of talking to her cousin.

"Alice? It's Jaime….. No, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine. I'll explain later, I just need you to come get me…. Where am I? Uh…." She looked at us inquiringly. Murphy wrote the address down hurriedly on the back of an envelope and handed it to her. Jaime read it off and waited. "I promise, I'm safe. They're good guys. Yes, I said guys….As in males, yeah- hello?" She frowned at the receiver as she set it back on the hook. "Uh, well…that was a fun conversation."

"She's not a feminist man-hater, is she?" asked Murph apprehensively. Jaime arched an eyebrow. "No…why?"

"Bad past experiences." He said vaguely.

"The fuck are you talking about?" I fumed. "You weren't the one that got kicked in the balls!" Jaime giggled. "You got beat up by a chick?"

"She wasn't a chick! She was a weird hybrid of chick and….monster." I said defensively. Murph hopped off the counter and walked into the living room, shaking his head at me. "She was definitely not human, I'll tell ya that right fucking now." Jaime and I followed him, taking our mugs of tea with him. Jaime sat down next to Murph on the couch, and flipped through a sketchpad with a furrowed brow. "Who's sketchbook?" she asked.

Murph took it from her. "Mine." He said, flipping a page.

Jaime looked over his shoulder. "Whoa! You drew that? No way!" Murph actually turned red for a brief moment. "Yeah, I did actually."

She continued on excitedly. "Did you, like, draw that from a picture? Like a grid drawing?"

"Nope. All from memory." He said simply.

"So this is freehand? Wow man! That's amazing! Who is the picture of?" She looked up at him, eyes shining. Murph glanced up at me for a second, as if gauging my reaction. "It's of an old friend of mine, from when we lived in Boston." He said quietly. I moved across the room, curious as to who it was. It felt like someone had punched me right in the gut. I was staring at a perfect portrait of Rocco, who was wearing his signature shades on top of his head, grin plastered on his face.

_Fuck me. _Chills ran down my spine as I looked at the picture.

"What happened to him?" Jaime asked, looking genuinely concerned. Murph's face was tight, obviously trying hard to keep himself composed. "He was shot. Got mixed up with the wrong crowd and they turned on him."

"Wait, if you guys lived in Boston, why didn't the Saints save him?" she asked innocently. "I mean, that was their thing, right? They protected good people, didn't they?"

My mouth went dry. "Uh, well, there's rumor that they tried." I said carefully. Guilt washed over me, threatening to suffocate me. Murphy's eyes were dark and distant. Jaime apparently sensed the shift in our moods, because she tried to change gears. "I'm sorry about your friend." She said softly. "But, well, this is a really good drawing. What'd you use, charcoal pencil?"

"Yeah…" replied Murph.

"My cousin is an art student, but she doesn't really do stuff like this. She's more of a painter than anything else." She paused. "I don't possess a creative bone in my body. I'm more into science." She looked over to Murphy and gave a wide grin. "Chemistry class was a blast. I got to blow a whole bunch of stuff up." Murphy gave a small chuckle, mostly to acknowledge that he was indeed listening.

There was a knock at door. I opened it, tea still in hand. "Can I help you?" I asked.

The woman at the door simply glared at me. "Yeah, I'm looking for Jaime."

"Right here, come on in." I stood aside for her to walk through the doorway. She gave me a hard look before coming inside and pulling off her hat. I felt my mouth open slightly. Bright pink hair was pulled back into a short pony tail, contrasting sharply with the black coat she wore, which was fitted and stylish.

_Oh yeah. Definitely an art student. _

"Alice!" Jaime jumped up front the couch and ran to her cousin. Alice pulled her into a brief hug before letting go of her. "So, explain to me just what in the fuck happened?" she asked, arms folded across her chest. Jaime's face fell suddenly, apparently remembering the whole reason as to why she was in our house to begin with.

Murphy stood up suddenly and was at Jaime's side. "She was jumped outside the bar you work at, apparently. I saw her and her attacker down by the pier and chased him off."

"How'd she wind up here then, if you simply chased him off?" Alice was sharper than a tack, not accepting anything less than the full story. I was suddenly reminded of Ericka's coworker Annie. She carried herself much in the same manner- head held high, back straight, confidence oozing out of every pore.

"I got kicked into the water." Said Jaime. "Murphy jumped in and saved me."

"Right…so why didn't you just take her to an emergency room then? Like any other normal person?" I frowned to myself. I hadn't even considered that question, but it wasn't hard for me to guess why.

"Engrained habit." He said smoothly. "When Connor-" he gestured to me. "-And I lived in the states, we patched ourselves up all the time. We never went to the emergency room. And his fiancé is a nurse, so it's not like she was in bad hands." I mentally filled in the blanks he left out.

_Actually, we used to kill people, and when we got hurt, stabbed, shot, or sick, we couldn't just walk into the emergency room and say, 'oh hey, some jackass shot me. I'll take some stitches and a morphine drip, please.'_

"Really, Alice, they took care of me. I'm fine, I promise." Jaime hesitated for a split second. "You should see some of Murphy's drawings, they're really wicked good." She sounded hopeful, like redirecting the conversation would calm her cousin down.

Alice looked like she wanted to dearly clock someone in the jaw. "You showed off your artwork? Are you fucking serious?"

"Actually, it was just sitting on the coffee table. I went through it on my own." Jaime pouted. "Please, quit acting like they're out to get you or like they're trying to lie to you. They're _fine._"

Alice sighed wearily, finally dropping the aggressive behavior. She actually looked relieved. "Well then, thank you for looking after my cousin here. I don't really have anything to give you as a thank you-"

Murph cut her off. "We don't want anything. Just make sure Jaime's more careful while she's here, alright?" Alice nodded, looking suddenly guilty. "Of course." She turned to Jaime. "C'mon. Let's get you home."

Jaime looked over at Murphy. "Thank you again for saving my life, Murphy. And I meant it when I said your drawing was good." She gave him a wide smile before following her cousin out the door.

I locked the door behind them with a click. Murph sat back down on the couch and picked up his drawing of Rocco, looking morose as he stared at it intently. I left him alone in the living room, not wanting to talk about what had just happened or about the sudden weight on my shoulders or talk about our dead friend, because that would open up old emotions and old memories of people and places we used to know. If we talked about any of it, then the Pandora's box of shit I wanted to bury would be opened, and out would come all of my old demons.

I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to think about it_. _That was all from another life, over and done with.

_God can't come calling for me now. I used to be a Saint. Now I'm not. It's that _simple.

Another thought entered my brain. _Nothing- NOTHING- is ever that simple._

**Review? You know you want to! **


	3. Options

"Here ya go, love." Connor shoved a cup of coffee in my hands. "It'll wake ya up."

I stared at him. "I've had three cups already. Pretty sure a fourth won't do much good for me."

We sat the back porch, taking in the midday sunlight. My eyes were heavy. "I'm fucking tired."

Connor frowned at me. "We've noticed." Pause. "Why haven't you been sleeping?" I grimaced a little."I have been sleeping…" He gave me the MacManus 'don't fuck with me' look- Connor and Murph both had it. I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut tight for a moment. "The nightmares have started again." I tapped my fingers nervously on my coffee cup. "They started back up a couple weeks ago, when Murph pulled that chick from the pier…." I shrugged. "They'll go away eventually."

Connor didn't look entirely convinced though I knew he wouldn't voice it out loud. He took a gulp of his own coffee. Think it was cup number five for him. I swear I have never met a man who drinks as much coffee as Connor. _Fucking caffeine addict. Wonder what he'd do if I got him a Redbull. _

"I think Murph misses being a Saint." He said suddenly. I raised my eyebrows at him. "And you don't?"

He furrowed his brow. "No. Not really."

I took a sip of my coffee, deciding to let that one go. Personally, I thought he was in denial. But what did I know? I never went out on hits with them. Well, I did once, but it didn't end well considering I was walking around with meningitis and didn't have a whole lot of coherent thought at the time. Oh, and they hadn't let me go with them on that hit… I invited myself. Good thing too, because if I hadn't shown up and phoned Smecker for backup, well, they'd be dead too.

Dumb luck. Their entire 'sainthood' was all dumb luck…and by divine intervention or not, Connor and Murphy were by far the luckiest motherfuckers I had ever met.

"What are you gonna do about it?" I asked Connor.

He shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. He'll figure it out." He glanced at my watch. "What time ya gotta be to work, love?"

I checked the time and groaned. I was late. Again."Now. No...more like ten minutes ago." I set down my coffee cup and got to my feet. "I'll see you tonight." I pecked him on the cheek and ran to my car, speeding into town. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel nervously. I really, really hoped that my boss wasn't there. I might have been the head nurse, but there were other big-whigs in the hospital I had to worry about. And because it was obvious that I wasn't native to Ireland, I face a lot of animosity from other staff members- I was a lazy, sloppy, dumb American. It made my job a chore at times, but it was something I just had to deal with.

Thankfully, most of the staff on shift that night were okay with me. Iona had been the only person who had really warmed up to me since I had started working there, and I was grateful for that. She never asked probing questions- she treated me like a normal human being. She greeted me cheerfully as I rushed in, hair falling into my face. "Hey, Erin! Want some coffee?" Erin was the pseudo name Smecker had given me to work under. A year later, and it still felt weird to go by 'Erin.'

I made a face, pulling my hair back into a half bun. "I'm good…" Iona nodded her head in understanding. "Conall forced it on you, eh?" Conall was Connor's name here. Murphy's was Murtagh- and they both hated their given names with a burning passion. I found it mildly amusing; I doubted they actually used them aside from paperwork- as long as they were relatively untraceable, that's all that really mattered.

The day dragged on and on. That was the thing about Ireland- it was too fucking quiet here. I missed my chaotic Boston; at least shifts at work were interesting. We had a few people trickle in, but nothing too serious- just a sick kid with a fever of a hundred and two, and a guy who was bit by a dog were the worst cases.

I sat at the desk, reading a book in Italian- or at least attempting to. Connor was doing his best to teach me, but it didn't stick quite as well as German did. "Vorrei un piatto di pasta… vorrei un piatto di pasta…" I muttered aloud. Iona gave me a strange look as she passed by. "What the hell are ya trying to say there?"

"Uh… I want a plate of pasta?"

She was mid-laugh when the doors to the ER slammed open. "Help me! Please help!" A pink haired female was dragging a young blonde girl, staggering under her dead weight. I jumped up from behind the counter. "Get me a gurney!" I yelled over my shoulder. I noticed the steady stream of red liquid dripping from the blonde girl's body. Horrified, I upped my already frantic pace. "Page the O.R., get anyone and everyone available scrubbed in!"

"Shouldn't we examine her first? Aren't you overreacting?" Iona said behind me.

"I hope so…" I muttered, but I don't think she heard me. She disappeared and another nurse replaced her, bringing a gurney. Carefully we lifted the blonde girl onto it. I felt a pang as I looked at her face. The same girl Murphy had rescued from the pier almost two weeks ago.

_What the hell has she gotten herself into…._

"Please help my cousin!" The pink haired girl was in absolute panic. "Please, please help her!" Later, I'd feel a twinge of regret for leaving her alone in the lobby of the hospital, but at that moment I wanted- no, needed- to get to the bottom of Jaime's injuries.

There was a bullet wound in her stomach. The blood pouring out of her was a dark red, almost purple looking. I felt myself sway on my feet, nausea settling in my stomach. _This is just like Eric…. You can't save her either. It's too late. You know damn well it's too late._

I shook my head and started barking orders to the other nurses- 500 milliters of this and that, get me gauze and some clamps- what the hell are you doing, get a blood transfusion going- where was the fucking doctor when you really needed him?

"…Ericka?" I froze. Jaime was- someone, amazingly- awake. Her voice was hardly audible. I was terrified- I thought she was in shock, passed out…

"Jaime, honey, you're gonna be alright." I said to her, calmly. "Someone tell the O.R. that we're on our way!" I yelled out to the rest of the people in the room.

"Tell Murphy…." Her eyes were glassy. "Tell him…."

They then wheeled Jaime away, down to the O.R. I looked down at my latex gloves that were covered in blood. _Just like my fucking nightmares…._ I peeled them off and threw them to the ground, shaking slightly. I walked out to the front desk and sank into the chair. I put my head on my arms and tried to keep my head. It wasn't my fault. It was not my fault if she didn't live_. I did_ _my best….._

_But it's not enough. _I chewed on my lip, thinking of another person who would share my exact sentiment- and it wasn't my significant other. After some flipping through a phonebook, I found the number I was looking for. I dialed it, head throbbing painfully.

"Callis College, Department of the Arts, Studio. How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone, his name is Murtagh McAllister… can you see if he's in?" A brief pause and then a throat clearing. "Yeah, he's here. Do you need him to come to the phone?"

"No, I'm stalking him." I snapped. "Obviously, yes, I'd like to speak with him." Another long pause and the sound of someone picking up the receiver. "Yes?"

"Murphy. It's Ericka…."

"What happened?" he asked sharply. I could picture him going stock still, as he tended to do when bracing for bad news. "Something happen to Conn?"

"No, Conn's fine. It's… well, come up here to the hospital. Please." I tacked on the please at the end, trying not to sound so demanding.

"Yeah, sure. Be there soon." He hung up, leaving me to wait on him. I went back to my position of laying on the desk. Murphy showed up literally ten minutes later. I had the distinct feeling he was speeding the whole way.

"What's going on?" He looked concerned- and he was also covered in charcoal. It was a pretty common occurrence for him for come home from the studio with black smudges on his face, or covered in paint. An artist he might have been, but careful he was not.

Iona appeared at my side randomly. "Take the rest of the night off. You look really shaken up there." I nodded at her. "Do you know where the chick with pink hair went?" I asked.

"Chick?" Iona looked confused. _Oh. American slang does not compute. Got it._

"The girl with pink hair."

"Oh. Um, I have no idea. Probably went outside to smoke is my guess."

At that Murph and I went outside. He lit up two cigarettes and passed one off to me. Like what he used to do with Connor. The dissonance between the two was palpable; I could barely tell they were related anymore, much less twins. It didn't feel sit right with me at all.

I sat down against a pillar, back arching involuntarily against the cold. _Damnit…._ I had forgotten my coat at the house in my rush to make it to work. Murph, cigarette still hanging out of his mouth, shrugged off his coat and handed it to me. Gratefully I took it and pulled it on. It smelled like cigarettes, some cologne Murph used, and paint. I glanced down, confirming my suspicions- there were a few splotches of white paint dotting his coat.

He sat down next to me and blew out a breath of smoke. "Alright, Ericka. Why am I here?"

I sighed. "It's not good news…Promise me you'll stay somewhat calm."

He looked perplexed. "Okay?"

A moment passed where we both took a drag off our cigarettes and let the silence fill the air. "A girl came in with a gunshot wound, and I don't know if she made it…." My voice trailed off. Murph flicked his cigarette butt into the parking lot, listening intently. "It was the scene with my brother all over again… I just froze up." I said miserably. Murph threw a brotherly arm around me, attempting to comfort me. "S'alright. Ya can't save everyone."

"There's more to it, Murphy…" I felt him tense up instantly, like a snake, coiling in preparation of attack. "The victim was Jaime…. "

"Are you serious?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "I wish I wasn't... I think the man that shot her was the same guy who threw her in the pier. She said your name specifically…you're the only person who might have a shot at figuring out what she meant."

Murph promptly got up and started to slowly pace back and forth as he talked. "Didn't get a real good look at him….how am I supposed to track him, I don't know shit about him, not even a name…"

_Oh no. Not this shit again._

"You can't seriously be thinking about go after him?" It was the Maria thing all over again; I shuddered, recalling how I had patched Murphy up after his half-assed plan of walking into a bar owned by a Russian thug to kill aforementioned thug- went awry. The memory made my already twisted stomach sicker.

"Of course I'm thinking about it. I can't let this shit go!"

"Well try."

He stopped in his tracks and crouched down next to me, lowering his voice. "Then why in the hell did you tell me. Did you really think I would ignore it?" His eyes were dark. I nearly flinched under his gaze, recognizing the look all too well.

"No….but you can't go after him alone."

"The fuck I can't-"

"Yeah, and remember how well that ended up?" He winced a little. Oh yeah. He remembered. Probably still had the scars from that incident.

"I can't ask Connor to come with me. Fuck, he doesn't even drink anymore, you really think he's gonna be willing to dig up our gear and go after a disappearing bad guy?"

_He's got a point._

"Then I'll go with you." The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I was committing myself to.

_Maybe Murphy isn't the only one who misses Sainthood. _

"No. Absolutely not." He stood back up and started pacing.

"Well tough shit," I got to my feet and folded my arms over my chest." 'Cos I'm the only fucking option you've got."

Murph gave me a hard look. He knew I was right. He sighed and lit up another cigarette. "Connor won't know about this. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

**Review? Please? *makes sad puppy dog face***


	4. Hollow

**AN- Gulp. Don't kill me for this!**

I lit up another cigarette, silent. I rubbed my eyes, walking in circles, tired. Ericka leaned against the wall, still cocooned in my coat.

"Excuse me… Murphy, isn't it?" We both jumped out of our skins as a pink haired girl appeared out of nowhere.

"Fuck!" I swore, startled.

_Lost your nerve, haven't ya?_

After I managed to compose myself, I stuck out my hand in an afterthought kind of a gesture. "Yeah, I'm Murphy. You're Alice, Jaime's cousin?" She shook my hand. Her handshake wasn't firm at all.

"Yeah…that's me…. Who are you?" she asked suspiciously, looking at Ericka. Ericka didn't bother to extend her hand. She already didn't like the girl, I could tell by her sudden stiff movements. "Ericka. I'm his brother's fiancé." She said simply. Alice nodded, relaxing a little. Well, I wouldn't say relaxed. More like less prone to pulling out a switchblade on someone.

"So…is Jaime alright?" she asked tentatively of me. I shook my head. "I have no idea. I'm sorry."

"I'll go check up on her." Ericka walked a few steps towards the door, stopped and shrugged out of the coat, throwing it at me before continuing inside.

Dreadful awkward silence followed. I finished my cigarette and looked down at her. "Do you want to go inside? It's warmer." Alice nodded and followed me into the lobby of the hospital. I sat down in a chair in the corner, where we were hidden under the cover of an ugly potted plant.

"So….what happened with your cousin?" I asked, deciding it was better to just get this part over with. Alice's face was tight, her voice strained as she spoke.

"We were leaving the bar I work at and a guy came up and just shot Jaime. Just shot her, like it was nothing." She bit her lip. "Why? I don't understand…. She's innocent. She hasn't done a damn thing to anyone here…"

I coughed- smoker's cough. Gotta love it. "Um… can you tell me if you've seen anything unusual in your day to day lately?"

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Like.." I waved my hands around as I talked. "Anybody weird hanging around your school or work? Anyone random in your neighborhood?"

Alice looked at me blankly. "Um…. I don't think so. No."

"Can you think a little harder for me? Maybe a detail or something out of place that you just brushed off?"

She stared off into space, face blank. "No…"

_Christ, this girl is dense. _I had a fleeting picture of her brain, replaced by a very solid rock. I wanted so badly to chalk it up to her witnessing her cousin's potential death…but something told me she was more than likely this ditzy all the time. Which meant Jaime had to pull through somehow and tell me herself… or we had to do digging around. I didn't much care for the latter. I silently crossed myself, hoping for a miracle. God and I hadn't talked much in the past year, but I'm pretty sure he could understand why.

"Alice." Ericka appeared around the corner, arms folded tight over her chest. I knew that stance all too well. Whatever she had to say, it wasn't good, and she was trying hard to keep herself together.

"Do you know anything about Jaime?" Alice looked up, eyes hopeful. I felt myself cringe as Ericka nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah…" she took a seat next to Alice, and did a very out of character thing, and clasped Alice's hands between hers. "The doctors and the surgeons tried everything they could…but by the time she had gotten here, she had lost so much blood…and the way the bullet entered her body…" Alice was already crying. "No..oh God….no…"

"I'm sorry.." Ericka tried, but her words sounded hollow. Her eyes looked it too.

"Why….why her?" Alice pulled away from Ericka and fell into my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, making shushing noises while she cried, trying to calm her down. Ericka opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but then decided against it apparently, getting up and walking away.

Hours later, Alice's apparent boyfriend showed up and took her home in a catatonic state. He thanked me for trying to help and left in a hurry. Can't say that I blamed him much.

I wandered the halls, looking for Ericka, knowing she was taking it hard. She had told me one time what had happened to her brother Erick- how she had been there, how she still had nightmares of that scene. I felt for her, I really did. Half the time I couldn't sleep because my dreams were punctuated with gunshots and dead people. Most of the time it was Connor who turned up dead. Sometimes, it was Rocco. Sometimes it was Ericka, or even Annie. Just depended on the night.

It took me a while of searching, but then again, the morgue was in the most remote part of the hospital so it took forever to find. It was also the last place I looked- or wanted to look.

Ericka barely glanced up when I walked in. "Shouldn't be in here, Murph. You're not on the staff."

"And you've been off the clock for about four hours. Your point is?"

She was silent. She just stood next to a gurney that had a white sheet draped over the body, tag on the toe. Just like in the movies."Are you gonna look?" I asked. I didn't know what she was down in the morgue for...but that seemed like the only logical reason for her to be hanging out where the hospital keeps their freshly deceased corpses.

She shrugged. "I don't know if I want to." She looked furious. No. Livid was the word to describe how she looked.

"You okay?"

She shook her head in disgust. "Fucking hollow point bullet, that's what the mother fucker used. Know what that does to a person? It royally fucks them up. Expands in the body, and the bullet will mushroom up, or fragment in some cases such as this one. It's designed to kill a person." She looked away from the body and up at me. "This girl was innocent. Good. And some asshole killed her. So no, I'm not okay. I am not fucking okay with that!" her voice cracked a little.

"Ericka… " I wanted to offer some comfort- maybe hold her hand or something, but that seemed weird, considering who she was. It was instinct, though. Not some weird attraction to the girl engaged to my brother. Just instinct that I wanted to hold and comfort her. "We'll find him. We'll find the fucker that did this. And he'll pay. Trust me…he'll pay."

Ericka looked back down and shivered, anger gone. She looked guilty. "Is it wrong of me to not want to look?" she asked in a small voice.

"No… no it's not." I put a hand on her shoulder. "C'mon. Let's get out of here." Slowly, she turned and walked away from Jaime's body. We weaved through the rest of the hospital, ignoring people as they passed us.

"Connor's gonna go ballistic when we tell him about Jaime…" I said as we stepped outside into the cold. I gave her my coat again. Ericka bit her lip, hair flying around in the wind. "I know….." her voice trailed off. She was silent the rest of the way to our cars.

"See you at home." I said, unlocking my car door. She took a few steps away then stopped.

"I need a drink." She said bluntly as we were about to go to our separate cars. I looked at her, surprised. _A bomb just dropped on Beaver-Cleaver-ville, _said a very Smecker-like voice in my head. Ericka really didn't drink much now, especially since Connor had been sober for a year. Actually, Connor hadn't really been himself since we made it to Ireland. Think 1950's 'American Dream' attitude. All smiles and sunshine and that shit they sell you in Hollywood.

It was unnerving. I hated it.

"You sure?" I asked, though realizing that I desperately want to consume alcohol as well. Not that I gave up drinking when I got here- but it seemed like the thing to do at the time, considering how shitty of a day it had been.

"Yeah." She rubs her eyes. "I need one."

That made two of us.

She looked sort of sleepy. It was kind of endearing. "Alright, if you're sure." I smiled down at her. "Get in. I'll drive."

**Review! Review! Review! =]**


	5. Bewilderment

**An- Annnnnnnnnd time for some super serious angst and schtuff. Blame the band An Horse for it. (They're catchy. And Australian.) And make an author happy and review review review! Please? :) **

**Connor POV**

Murphy and Ericka were both missing from the house when I got home. I wasn't too concerned- it wasn't too uncommon for them to go unseen for a day or two at a time. Both at the same time was strange though, but I shrugged it off. _Coincidence. _Or maybe I was just too tired to care at the time; the restaurant had been understaffed that night and even I was stretched thin. It didn't help much that the bartender cut his hand open on a broken shot glass and somehow I wound up taking his place for the rest of the night…which wouldn't have been so bad, if people hadn't been so drunk.

Faces blurred together, but there was one guy in particular who stood out to me. White Russian with Bailey's instead of cream, that's what he drank. Disgusting. He ogled every female in eyeshot. I felt some old and long forgotten emotion stir inside of me, but I ignored it. He was just another asshole.

As I set down another drink in front of him, he looked up at me. Waxy complexion, gray eyes, and a horse sounding voice. "You know, sometimes I really hate women." He said, slurring his words. I ignored him. "I really, really hate them sometimes. Know what I mean?" He peered at me, eyes dark and almost hungry looking.

I suppressed a shudder as I shook my head at him. "Nope."

"Figures…. " he muttered moodily. "I'm the only one….the only one…."

He was silent after that. He sucked down a few more drinks, paid, then left in a drunken stupor. I crossed my fingers in the hopes that he would get hit by a car. Guy was a real creep.

I took a shower and passed out cold in bed, alone for the first time in…well, it had been a while since I had been completely alone. Usually there was someone at least in the house. Privacy was almost foreign to me. Hell, the apartment Murph and I had shared in Boston had no walls, just open space- I can assure you, privacy goes completely out the window when you have to shower out in the open.

I woke to an empty bed. It took a minute to register that Ericka wasn't there. _That's fucking weird. _I chalked it up to still being half asleep- Ericka was probably awake already. She had always been an early riser. I made my way downstairs and made a pot of coffee, waiting impatiently for my vice known as caffeine. The clock caught my attention. Six in the morning. I hadn't been up this early in forever. I stared out the window, listening to the steady gurgling and _drip drip drip _noises of the coffeemaker. It was a rainy day outside. The clouds were billowy and grey, threatening to storm at any moment.

The coffee pot stopped making noise. I poured myself a cup and ventured into the living room, intent on catching the early morning news. I hadn't watched the news in months, but for some particular reason this morning I felt compelled to. My jaw dropped as I rounded the corner.

_What. The. Fuck?_

Ericka was curled up on the couch, asleep. She wasn't alone.

She was with Murphy. With my fucking brother.

_There has to be an explanation for this. A logical reason. They wouldn't- never, no way. _My mind spun in circles; my blood started boiling. I hadn't been angry in long time. But at this moment, I was nothing short of livid.

I stood there and stared at the pair of them for a good minute before I went upstairs and got dressed, and went outside to my car. I got in and started the engine. I didn't have a real idea of where I was going, but I had to get away from the house. I just had to get away.

I wanted to just lose it in the car, scream and shout and just break down. I couldn't shut my brain off. Images that I didn't want to even think ran through my head, different scenarios of what might have happened.

_What did I miss? What sign or signal did I not notice? _

_Why would they do this- of all fucking people, why them?_

_It wasn't intentional…. There's no way it could have been…_

_It doesn't excuse it. I would never, EVER cheat on Ericka. I would never have fucked around with a girl Murph dated._

_Who says she even cheated on you? Why not hear them out?_

I glanced up and found myself at the pier in Dublin. I hadn't realized I had even driven into the city, but now that I was here, I figured I might as well get out and smoke a cigarette. I needed to calm down, clear my head a little. I got out and leaned against my car, staring off into the water. The sun reflected on the water, orange light mixing oddly with the dark blue as waves gently rolled in.

Something caught my attention as it bobbed up and down in the water. Flicking away my cigarette, I stepped away from my car and walked down to the docks, peering closer at the object. I felt chills go up and down my body as I took in the face of a dead girl, simply floating in the water.

**Ericka POV**

It never ceased to amaze me how much alcohol Muprhy could cosume and still function normally. Five (or maybe it was more like eight, I lost track) rounds of shots later, and he wasn't even slurring his words. I can't say that I had the ability to drink myself to near oblivion without feeling it anymore; I guess hardly drinking lowered my alcohol tolerance to nearly zero.

I had a hard time getting my point across anyway. Whatever my point had been. I couldn't really remember. All I knew is that I _had_ to make Murphy aware of it…whatever 'it' was.

Murph bit his lip as he looked at me. "Think you've had a bit too much to drink, love."

I stared at him. "Since when do you call me love?" I asked blankly. He shrugged, tipping back another shot in response. I shrugged back at him. _He's probably getting toasted maybe._

_That sentence is so grammatically incorrect, it frightens me._

_Whatever, Ericka. This is the first time in a year you've really had the chance to drink without scrutiny. Shut up and drink. _I obeyed myself and grabbed Murphy's drink- Jack and Coke, probably. He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Gee, you're totally not deprived at all."

_Oh! That was what I was trying tell him._

I straightened up, trying to look as serious as possible. "Murphy…. I don't know what it is lately, but I kind of just want to punch Connor in the face."

To my surprise, Murphy nodded grimly. "Same here..."

"Why do you want to clobber him?"

He shook his head. "I dunno. Maybe because it's all too fucking simple now. Too safe…."

"Too perfect?" I offered. He nodded at me again. "Yeah. Too damn perfect. Just doesn't feel right." He went to take a drink, and then realized I had it. I offered it back to him, but he waved me off. "Go for it. I'm gonna grab a water, actually. One of us has to be sober enough to drive home."He got up and left, leaving me alone in the corner of the bar we were in.

A man, who seemed kind of drunk and tripped out on some serious drugs, sat down right next to me in the booth seat made for one person. "Hey darling… " his breath smelled foul. "Can I get you a drink?"

I angled my head away from him. "No, I'm fine."

"That you are my dear…that you are." He leaned into my neck, pushing me up against the wooden wall of our booth, trying to plant sloppy kisses on me. I vaguely wondered what Connor would have done had he been there.

"Stop fucking breathing on me!" I elbowed him in the ribs with an amazing amount of coordination for a drunk person. He stood up, looking angry. "Stupid bitch-"

"Can I fucking help you?" Murphy appeared behind creeper, eyes dark and looking like he wanted to rip the guy from limb to limb. Something stirred inside me, something buried deep. That look. Something about that look on Murphy's face….

"No…no." Creeper smirked and then turned and walked out of the bar. Murphy stood rooted to the spot, staring after him. Murphy… it's okay. Sit down, please?" reluctantly he sat down across from me, setting his glass of water down on the table.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright." I picked up my glass and took a drink.

Murphy was silent, staring down into his own glass. "You know, Ericka…." He paused. "Fuck it. Nevermind."

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"You can tell me anything. You're like my brother."

He smiled, looking a little…sad. _Is sad the right word? _"I know, Ericka. I know. I just wonder how Conn got so damn lucky."

"Lucky? You guys are both lucky. Y'all should be dead, like three or four times over. I swear you cats have nine lives…"

He shook his head at me. "Not like that. I mean….with you."

"Me?"I felt my head throb. _I am bewildered right now. Bewildered. That's a funny word. _

"Yeah…. Don't take this the wrong way. I mean…. You're beautiful. Smart. Wicked sense of humor. I haven't found anyone with that really."

I took another drink. "What about Annie?"

He grinned a little. "She would've been a keeper… but those are few and far between, and I doubt I'll ever see her again." He bit his lip again. "I dunno. I see the way you and Connor look at each other, or used to…before he changed… and I want that. I want that badly. You don't even know."

Murphy was fuzzy, blurred a little. I blinked a few times. Still fuzzy. "Murphy…" my voice came out strange sounding. I heard the words, 'oh my God' and felt someone half carrying me outside. "Murphy? What's going on?"

"I think that creep drugged your drink. Stay with me, here alright?"

I was in a car. We were driving. My stomach hurt. "Pull over." I croaked out. "Pull over."

The car stopped. I opened the door and tumbled out onto the road on my hands and knees as I vomited up the contents of my stomach. I felt Murphy kneeling next to me.

**Murphy POV**

_What are the chances… I walk away for two minutes and she gets drugged. I can't believe this shit._

I stuck close to Ericka as she threw up violently. We were a road, about a mile out from, the house. I debated taking her to the hospital, but I somehow doubted the hospital staff would believe me. _'Oh gee, took my eventual sister-in-law out drinking, and some random stranger put something in her drink when we weren't looking.' _And I knew for a fact that Ericka had a loaded first kit stashed in the house somewhere, and everything that we might need- from IV's to painkillers to liquid stitches- would be in there. We'd be alright.

I wondered if Connor knew about it.

"_You can tell me anything. You're like my brother."_

She had no idea what those words did to me. I felt an odd twinge in my chest.

_Whoa, Muprhy. Lay off the crackpipe. You DO NOT have feelings for your brother's fiancé. _

_But what if you do?_

I let out a frustrated sigh. _This is insanity. _

I felt sick. We had to get home. I had to get her back to Connor, where she belonged, so I would stop having such strange thoughts. "C'mon, Ericka. Let's get you up. Let's go…."

She slowly got up, stumbling. "Car…" she mumbled.

"Right here, it's right here." I help her into the car and ran around to hop into the driver's seat and go. I sped the entire way to the house. I watched Ericka out of the corner of my eye, monitoring her for any forbidding signs. It occurred to me that I didn't know what I was even looking for. She stared out the window, eyes half open.

I pulled into the driveway. Connor was home. Ericka, registering where we were, got out of the car on her own. I rushed around to the passenger side of the car, wrapping and arm around her waist as she supported her weight on shaky legs. We had to stop a few times for her to get her balance; it took a while to actually get into the house.

I led her over to the couch where she practically collapsed. "Fuck…" she moaned.

"What's the matter? What hurts?"

"My head…" she rubbed her temple with a limp looking hand. I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the 'first aid bag of doom' as she had labeled it and a glass of water and back to the living room. "Drink that." I commanded, sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She took a small sip and handed the glass back. I dug through the bag, wondering what I could give her to help. Somehow, water seemed to be the answer. She had probably puked out whatever drug that had been in her drink; she would definitely dehydrate if she didn't get water back into her body.

"Drink a little more for me? It'll help your head." She begrudgingly took the glass and sipped at it a few times before giving it back. It was about the best I could do.

I got up from the table. "I'm going to go get Connor," I told her. She shook her head at me. "No… no. Don't wake him up. I'm fine." Her voice was weak sounding.

"He'd want to know, love." I winced as the word came out of my mouth again. I prayed she didn't hear it.

"Tell him…tomorrow. Just want to sleep…" she muttered. Against my better judgment, I let her win .I sat down on the couch next to her. "No, Murphy. Go sleep. Don't have to babysit me." Her words ran together.

"It's either I sit here with you or I go wakeup Connor so he can sit with you. You don't have a choice in the matter."

She closed her eyes. "Fine…" A few minutes later, she was asleep, breathing slow and heavy. I watched her for a while, debating whether or not I should get up and wake Connor. My head throbbed from the events of the day. I was tired.

Jaime was dead. Alice proved to be no help. Ericka had randomly gotten roofied at the bar. Oh yeah. It had been a bad day.

Ericka slumped against my shoulder. Hesitantly, I pulled her closer to me, arm wrapped around her shoulder as her head rested on my chest. _It's only for a minute or two…. _

I heard a door slam and a car engine roar to life outside. I sat bolt upright startled. Ericka was still laying on me, slowly stirring awake. Gently, I laid her down on the couch, running to the window. Connor's car was gone. He had seen us.

I groaned aloud. This was going to be impossible to explain.

"Murphy?" came Ericka's voice from the couch. She tried sitting up. "Ow…why the fuck does my head hurt so badly…."

"You got drugged last night." I handed her a mug of half full coffee sitting on the bookshelf. It was still hot; Connor must have been drinking it when he found us on the couch. _God, this is a mess…_

"Coffee?" Ericka sat up gingerly and took the mug from me. "Thanks…so, how did I get roofied again?"

"The guy that got up in your face, I think he slipped something in your drink."

She frowned. "I remember it… kind of. It's all sort of blurry." She paused. "Where's Connor?"

"He, uh….left apparently."

Her face was suddenly grim. "Did we both sleep out here on the couch last night?" she asked slowly. I nodded. "Damnit… this is going to be fun, trying to reason with Connor…. Nothing happened though, right?"

I was taken aback. "'Course not." I said incredulously. _Why would she think that?_

"Just checking." She rubbed her face again. "I need a fucking shower." She got up and left the room. I heard her footsteps go up the stairs, floorboards occasionally creaking. I fell back into the couch, face in my hands.

This was awful. I had to be making shit up in my own head, these feelings were totally wrong. _I don't want her. _My mind conjured up an image of her in the shower as I heard water rushing through the pipes in the house. I gritted my teeth together, accepting defeat. _Alright. I give_. _I do want her. _

_I just can't have her._

I made a mental note to go to church later that day. _Confession time. Need a healthy dose of Sin-be-gone._ I smirked to myself. Rocco would have appreciated that one.

The phone rang, pulling me out of my stupor. "Hello?"

"Murph. Hey, it's Connor." His voice was low, tense. "Listen, we've got a problem on our hands."

_Oh no. He knows. _

"We do?" I said dumbly, swallowing hard. "What is it?"

"There's a body in the pier. A girl." He paused. "Same harbor, same week. It's got to be the same guy that went after Jaime. I called it into the cops…"

"Jaime's dead, Conn. Ericka worked on her last night when she came in."

Dead silence greeted me for a good ten seconds. "Jesus Christ." He swore. "Look, after I'm done here, we're going up to Da's. We're gonna take care of this."

I was glad to hear him say that.


	6. Roadside

**Murphy POV**

Da and Ma lived a good hour and a half away from Dublin, out in the country so they wouldn't be bothered. The drive there was a long and tense one; Connor drove while I sat in the passenger seat. I tried to keep calm, smoking cigarette after cigarette; The silence was unnerving as hell.

"So… what's the plan?" I asked lamely, trying to start a conversation. I should have known better.

"Find the bad guy, kill him." He said shortly. His tone was clipped as he spoke. I actually winced a little.

_Oh yeah. Connor is definitely pissed at me. _

"You said Jaime wound up in the ER?"

"Yeah." I found myself chewing on my thumb. "Alice took her into the ER. Gunshot wound. Hollow point bullet. Girl didn't stand a chance."

He glanced over, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "How did you know about this before me?"

_And so it begins…_

"Ericka called me after Jaime was brought in…" I coughed intentionally, trying to buy a little time. "I guess Jaime said my name…We think the same guy that got to her the first time came back and finished the job. Only thing that really makes sense."

"Yeah…." I felt the car shift gears as Connor hit the brakes. It didn't make sense; there was nothing but trees and a straight road in front of us.

"Why are we slowing down?"I asked, suddenly a little wary of my brother. Connor said nothing, simply pulling off the road and killing the engine. He kept his gaze straight ahead, looking right out the windshield. "Murph, look, please be honest with me here." He took a steadying breath. "Is there something going on with you and Ericka?"

I shifted a little in my seat. "No, Conn. Why would you think that?"

"Murph, don't lie to me. Just be honest."

"I'm not lying to you Conn-"

"You two were sleeping on the couch together last night!"

"We've crashed on the same fucking couch before! What's the big deal this time?" I was digging myself a real hole here- the snowball effect, so to speak.

"You were, like, holding her and shit! It's kind of fucking weird to even think about, much less know it happened-"

I cut him off. Enough of this shit. Whether or not I may or may not (I was still conflicted on that issue) have had feelings for Ericka didn't matter- what did matter was fixing Connor's little red wagon and calming him down at least to talk some (potentially false) sense into him. Pissed off Connor was one thing. An angst ridden one was something else altogether- unbearable. "Connor. She was drugged last night."

I was met with a blank stare. "What?"

"Ericka was drugged by some creep at the bar-"

"Drugged? _Drugged?" _His mouth was wide open in shock. "How in the fuck did-"

"I walked away for two friggen minutes and this guy was up in her face. It had to have been him." I swallowed. "When we got back to the house, she told me she didn't want me to wake you up, so I kept on eye on her. I don't know how she wound up sleeping on me, but I promise you, Connor, nothing happened. Okay? Ericka doesn't see me that way-" And in comes the partial maybe lie, "I don't see her like that either."

Quiet. He didn't believe me.

"Why were you two at the bar to begin with?"

"Ericka wanted a drink after Jaime came in…"

Connor's face showed the sudden flash of understanding- the gerbil was leaping into the proverbial wheel. "Shit…. She worked on her…." He groaned. "She's got to be a mess right now, she's going to blame herself."

"She was pretty shaken up… "

"Why the fuck didn't she come to _me_? Of all people…" he muttered.

"Because you fucking coddle her and treat her like she's totally incompetent. She hates that shit; you know that as well as I do." The words spilled out of my mouth without much warning. You know that phrase about the mouth getting ahead of the mind?

_Oops_. _Might as well get it all out now._

"And what the fuck is with you, man? You don't act normal anymore. "

"Not normal?" Connor left eyebrow arched. "Tell me. How do I act, Murph?" His tone of voice was too much for me- bitten back contempt, the venom practically dripping from every word. It took all the self restraint I had to not punch him in the nose.

"Weird! Okay? You act fucking weird! You don't drink, you walk around acting like life is perfect, like you don't still think about the shit we did- as if it doesn't haunt you, as if you don't miss it too. Look, I don't know where the hell you ran off to, Connor, but I hope you find your way back to reality sometime soon. This shit has got to go."

His jaw was tight. I was waiting for him to throw a punch, or yell or something. Anything. Instead he sighed and shook his head. "I _am_ living in reality, Murph."

"The fuck you are! Do you really think that if you look away or pretend it's not there that the bad guys and evil go away? Because if you do, you are the single most retarded mother fucker on the goddamned planet."

Silence rang loud and clear. I sank back into seat, elbow propped up on the window. Connor eventually pulled out a cigarette, lighting up. He went through one cigarette, then another, then another. He cleared his throat and scrubbed a tattooed hand over his face. He glanced down at the writing on his trigger finger, frowning, as if he had forgotten it had been there for years.

"Look, Conn. I know this shit isn't your bag anymore. Ok, I get that. I get why. But this guy…. We have to go after him. I don't know about you, but I can't turn a blind eye to this one. I mean.. imagine it had been Ericka…"

Connor's face went from blank to horrified in a split second. "Murphy. You said Ericka was drugged. Did you see what the guy looked like?"

"Kind of. It was smoky in the bar…" the lightbulb clicked on. "Shit… you don't think it was the same guy?"

Conn shrugged and waved a hand. "Do you have any better theories?"

"It's possible…. I mean, I don't know. We don't have any leads on the guy…. Alice might have seen his face, but I don't even know if she's functional at this point. It'd be hard to get anything out of her."

Connor's face was thoughtful. "I dunno…there's a guy that came in last night…. He gave me the creeps… it could have been him…." Then his face was scrunched up in frustration. "Fuck. We have absolutely nothing to go on. Nothing. How are we supposed to find this fucker if we don't even have a name for him?"

I shrugged back in response. "Wait it out, I guess, like what we used to. Shit used to fall in our lap…. Maybe this guy, whoever he is, will stumble across us again…."

Connor waved off my response. "What'd he look like?"

"Which he? When?

"Last night."

I thought hard. I had been too busy resisting the urge to throttle the guy to really look at him. "Um, medium height, gray coat, his voice was kind of scratchy…"

Connor looked a little crestfallen "What bar were you at?"

"Kelly's. It's the one down the street from where you work. We went there because it was relatively busy. Easier to blend in."

"What time were you there?" Connor didn't miss the annoyed glare I shot at him. "There's a fucking reason for the question, just answer it."

"Fuck… about eleven, I'd say."

He squinted at nothing in particular, gears turning in his head. "He was at work around ten…. Said some shit about hating women, finished his drink and left… Maybe the guy went barhopping."

"He could've been trying to scope out a victim, saw that the bar was a bust and left-"

"Which would explain the girl in the pier…" Conn's voice trailed off. He looked a little haunted, actually. Suddenly his eyes opened wide. "Shit, Murph… what if he was scoping for an accomplice?"

_Why didn't I think of that?_

"There's gotta be at least two of them running around then. The guy from the bar last night and the guy from the pier around totally different people. Maybe they're working together. Or maybe they're unconnected and it's just total coincidence."

Connor shrugged a shoulder. "I've got a feeling… they're together on this shit."

I snorted. "Any proof to back that theory up?"

"Nope." And for the first time in a year, Connor actually shot me his infuriating 'I know all' grin. I merely shook my head at him as he started up the car and drove down the road, breathing a sigh of relief that Connor was acting somewhat like his old self.

When we finally made it to the house, Da was outside on the porch waiting for us. Connor and I looked at each other, baffled. Neither of us had bothered to phone ahead. "How'd you know we were coming?" I yelled at him as I stepped out of the car. Da shook his head at us. "Ericka called. Said to call her as soon as you got up here." Connor, looking as concerned as I suddenly felt, rushed inside to the phone. Da arched an eyebrow at me (so that's where Connor got that damn trait from….) and sighed. "What trouble have you boys found yourselves this time?"

"That's the thing Da. We didn't go looking for trouble. It found us."

Connor ran back outside, looking more alive and more frantic than I had seen him in a year. "Murph, we need to grab our shit and go." No argument needed; We took off at a sprint to the barn behind the house. The backyard was overgrown with grass; it was like a small jungle. I guess Da was too busy taking care of an ailing Ma to worry about landscaping.

We found the barn just as we had left it, shovels on the settled mound of dirt in the corner.

"What's going on?" I asked as drove my shovel into the earth. Connor paused long enough to stare me in the eye. "She's in some deep shit. If we don't get back there now, she's as good as dead."

I didn't need to question who the 'she' was in his statement.


	7. Fight

**AN- This chapter is kind of dark and kind of graphic...sorry guys. This one wrote itself here. **

_My head fucking hurts_.

I sprawled out across my bed, hair still damp from my shower, rubbing my eyes, hoping the pain that raged behind my left eye would soon dissipate. I rolled onto my side, holding my head in my hands, hair leaving a wet spot on the covers. "Go away…" I muttered aloud.

"Fine, I will." I opened my eyes and saw Murphy standing in the doorframe, hands buried deep in the pockets of his threadbare jeans. He must have gotten out of the shower; his hair was plastered to his forehead and the spicy smell of some manly body wash filled the air.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked moodily.

"About five seconds. I actually came to tell you that Connor and I are heading up to Da's house in about an hour or so.."

I sat up, confused. "Why."

Murph pursed his lips together. "Connor found a body in the pier this morning. Think it's the same guy who got Jaime. We're going up there to grab our gear… ask Da how to track this guy."

"Who's idea was that?"

"Conn's, actually."

_That's a shocker._ I never thought I'd be glad to hear that my fiancé was feeling murderous again, but this was welcome news. Almost a relief.

"Ericka? You okay?" Murph stared at me, watching like a hawk.

"Yeah… fine. Head hurts like a mother…but I'll be fine."

He took a couple steps towards me, then stopped short. "Mind if I show you something?" he asked tentatively.

"Will it help my head?"

"It should. Works for me at least."

"Then by all means, please."

Murphy took a few more slow steps before sitting on the bed next to me. "Here, give me your hand." I extended my free hand- the one not cradling my head. He took it and gently pressed down on the space between my thumb and index finger. "There's a pressure point in the hand that helps with headaches if you press down on it long enough. Stimulates blood flow, which generally, lack of blood flow is the main root of headaches. You knew that already though." He kneaded my hand for a minute, then took my other one and repeated the process. His hands were warm, almost hot, sending slight chills through me. I vaguely wondered if I had a fever.

"Feel any better?" he asked. I blinked, suddenly realizing that my head was only dully aching. "Yeah… that worked great actually. Where'd you learn how to do that?"

He chuckled. "Had a girlfriend teach me that one, actually. She was into new age stuff… she was a real nutcase to be honest."

"So what'd you do? Break up with her?"

"Nah, she dumped me for some nature loving bearded guitar playing guy. Which worked out well, I feel. No love lost there." I laughed a little at him. It was hard to imagine Murph committing to anything.

"When's the last time you had a girlfriend?" Murphy frowned. "It's been a while…. Haven't found anyone worth my time." He shrugged, looking around the room.

It was suddenly quiet. I could hear him breathing next to me. The air was thick with some strange form of static electricity, crackling, hissing, sparks flying everywhere. I felt blood rush to my head. It was a very strange sensation, and the fact that Murph was causing it was even weirder. I didn't really know how to react. Thankfully, Murph took control of the situation. "I better get going."He let go of my hand (_was he really holding it that entire time?)_, got up, and glanced back at me before he left the room. The look in his eyes was unnerving.

I flopped back on my bed, listening to the sounds of Murph's movements throughout the house. I heard the door to the house open and close, the sound of a car starting and driving away, and then silence.

I laid there for a while, eyes closed, trying to shake the tingly feeling in my stomach and catch a nap. Something stirred in my brain. _Alice….alice…._

"Fuck…." I got up and went downstairs to the phone in the kitchen. I dialed the number to the hospital, twirling the phone cord around with my fingers. "Tá Súil Hospital Emergency Room, Maura speaking. How can I be of assistance today?" Maura was a twenty- something bitch with a real chip on her shoulder. I didn't much care for her.

"Yeah, I need a copy of a patient's medical record."

There was a brief pause. "I'm sorry, but our confidentiality policy states-"

"I know what it states, Maura. This is Erin."

"Erin who?"

_Facepalm. _"Erin, your boss. I know you're doing your job, but I need this file. This stays between us, I promise. " I heard frantic typing noises on the other end as she scrambled to pull up the patient records.

"Who's file did you need again?"

"Uh, her name is Jaime. I don't know her last name…. She was our gunshot victim from yesterday." More typing, and then a cough. "Um, I found her file. What do you want me to do?"

"Print it out. I'll be there in twenty."

* * *

><p>I sat in the hospital cafeteria with a cup of black coffee, holding Jaime's medical file in my hands. It was thin, which made sense since her only visit was the day before. The autopsy report hadn't been added in yet, but I didn't need that information. I already knew what had killed her. I scanned through the few pages that were there, tying to find something that be useful to me.<p>

_From New York…17…allergic to penicillin and bees….staying with her cousin, Alice O'Malley, downtown. _That was about the extent of the information. I sighed to myself and sipped my coffee, cringing at how truly awful it tasted. Guess I knew where I was headed next.

Alice's apartment was above the restaurant Connor worked at. I frowned to myself. _At least it's conveniently located. _I walked up the old metal stairs to her apartment and knocked on the door. A man wearing glasses that magnified tired looking eyes answered. "Can I help you?" He asked politely enough, though judging by the tone of his voice he was stretched pretty thin.

"I'm looking for Alice O'Malley. It's about her cousin, Jaime." He sighed and looked around hopelessly. "She really-"

"Doesn't want to talk. I get it. But I think she'll understand why I'm here exactly." Hesitantly, he moved aside, allowing me to enter. The apartment was small and covered from floor to ceiling in artwork. Most of it had a real Picasso feel to it.

"Alice…someone's here to see you…" Called the man. He looked down at me. "I'm her fiancé, Calvin. This has been..hard on both of us."

"It's understandable." I said quietly.

Alice came around the corner and stared at me. "Why are you here?" she asked sadly. She coughed into her elbow, face blotchy, pink hair in disarray. "I have a few questions for you, if wouldn't mind answering them." She looked at me in astonishment. "How dare you-"

"I'm trying to help you, Alice."

She sneered at me. "How do you plan on doing that? You couldn't save my cousin, so what fucking good are you to me now?"

I fought the urge to explain in detail exactly what that particular bullet did to her cousin and why I couldn't do anything to save her. "My fiancé and his brother are…gifted in tracking down people. There was a body in the pier this morning…. Whoever this guy is, he's sick, and a real threat to the people living here. I'm not trying to upset you, but if you can remember any detail, no matter how small…it might help us find this guy."

Alice wrapped her arms around herself, looking defeated. "Okay….i'll try to help." Calvin walked over to her and pulled her to his body. "S'alright darling. It's gonna be alright. C'mon now… let's go sit down."

He led her over the couch in the living room. I sat down on a chair, pulling out a notebook and pen. "What do you want to know?" asked Alice.

"Where were you when she was shot?"

"Outside the bar I work at…Kelly's." I felt my eyes widen a little. _The same bar Murph and I were at last night._

"The man who shot your cousin… was he wearing a mask? Have you seen him around before?" She shook her head. "No mask… but he looks like every other mick that rolls into that bar. I didn't pay any attention to him until it was too late." Her voice caught in her throat, tears leaking out of her eyes. _Keep going…keep going…_

"Do you have any idea what he was wear-" She was full on sobbing now. Calvin looked at me apologetically. "Give us a few minutes." He said. I nodded and walked into their kitchen. I spotted the phone on the wall. I picked up the receiver and dialed the number to Da's. He answered on the fifth ring. "Hello?"

"Da, it's Ericka. Hey, the boys are coming up there to grab their stuff…tell them to call me back at this number once they get there?"

"Sure thing." He said before hanging up. I always liked that about Da. Straight, to the point, no questions unless necessary. _A definite 'one shot, one kill' kind of guy. I bet he was a monster back in his prime._

I walked back out to the living room. Alice looked a little calmer. "I'm sorry..I just-"

"Don't apologize." I said sharply. "You have nothing to be sorry about. It wasn't your fault. Alright?" I stared her down until she nodded at me. "Alright then….are you up to answering a few more questions?"

"Yes… if it'll find her killer, then I'll answer any questions you have for me." She looked to Calvin, giving him a brave, watery smile.

"Okay…. Um, can you tell me what he was wearing? If you noticed anything about what he looked or sounded like? Did he have a limp or nervous tick? Anything like that?"

She looked thoughtful. "He had a scratchy voice, like he'd been smoking two packs a day for the last ten years. Medium height… it was dark out. Couldn't get much of a look at him."

"Alice…. How did he approach your cousin?"

"I don't know… he looked so normal that he just blended in. Thought he lived in one of the apartments nearby…" she heaved a great sigh, apparently trying to keep from crying. "He walked over, put his gun to her belly and…. " she stopped short for a few moments, tears leaking out of her eyes. "He stepped over her body to threaten me... said not to worry, that he'd be back for me…"

The phone rang. Hastily, I rushed to the kitchen to answer it. "Hello?"

"Ericka, _aingeal. _Da said you called. You alright?"

"Yeah, Conn. I'm fine…I think I have a lead on this guy. I guess he's been popping in and out of Kelly's for a while…. I dunno, but this guy is a real psychopath. He's probably recruiting like minded fuckers to help him out."

"Yeah… that's the theory-"

Gunshots rang from the other room. I nearly jumped out my skin. I heard Connor shouting at me through the phone, "Where are you? What the hell's going on? Talk to me damnit!"

"I'm at Alice's apartment. It's above where you work." Before I threw the phone to the ground, I tacked on "I love you" as a just-in-case measure. I grabbed a knife that had been sitting on a cutting board, covered in dried tomato guts. I took a breath and followed the wall, stopping short of the corner, listening hard. There was scuffling and muffled yelling…and there was more than one intruder, I was sure of it. I peered around the corner cautiously; I saw the backs of two men, and a third one was pacing back and forth impatiently. I fell back against the wall, trying to think of a plan.

I had nothing. No plan, no weapon. Just a dirty, dull kitchen knife. I silently crossed myself, dropping to a crouch as I prayed. _If I get out of this one…it'll be a miracle. _

"God help me…"

A man came around the corner, and looked around behind him before dropping to my level. He tilted his head to the side. "There's no need to pray. We're gonna take good care of you." His eyes did a quick sweep over me, darkening. His hand snaked it's way to the base of neck, getting tangled in my hair. "Real good care of you."

I let a whimper escape my mouth. "Can I pray before you take me?" I begged. "So God won't punish me for straying from my fiancée?" Tears burned my eyes as panic tried to settle in. _Stay calm. Must stay calm..._

"Fear of the Father. That's a good girl. C'mon now, let us pray for your soul…" He pushed my head down into a bow. I lashed out then, knife landing in his chest. He made a choking noise as I scooted out from underneath him. If I hadn't been so angry and afraid, I might have said a prayer over him. Instead, I pulled the knife out of his chest and carefully walked into the living room. The two men still had their backs to me. I stopped dead in my tracks, trying to calculate how many steps it would take to get to one of them, how hard it would be to down one of them. The one on the left was smaller- I had a better chance of catching him by surprise, as he was talking rapidly. "What do we do with them?" He asked.

I took a running step and leaped onto his back, pulling the blade of the knife across his throat. The poor bastard didn't stand a chance, blood pooling onto the floor. I realized with a slight pang he was the guy from the bar the night before. I felt vindicated. The bigger man turned to me and simply grinned in a freakish kind of way. "You like it rough? You like to fight?"

I stared at him, the knife held in front of me carefully. He laughed. "You wish to fight me?" he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Calvin's head. Calvin's eyes were huge, a wad of fabric shoved into his mouth, hands and feet bound. Jaime was on the floor next to him, passed out. I didn't see any gunshot wounds on either of them, but the holes in the couch were enough to see this guy was locked and loaded. "Let's play a game, shall we?"

"I don't care for those." I spat at him. He laughed again. "You'll change your mind. Do what I say, when I say to do so, and I'll let both of these people live."

Lie. It was a total lie, and I knew it as well as I knew Connor and Murph's reactions to the ending of that phone call- They were already on their way. Maybe if I was lucky, I could buy us all some time. See, in the movies, one tiny girl with a knife can defeat a hulking guy with a gun, no problem. Real life doesn't work that way.

I bit my lip. "I'll play then."

He grinned evilly. "Good. Put down the knife. Now." Slowly, I set it down at my feet, kicking it to the side. "Now, get on your knees and put your hands on your head. Do it now." I did as I was told. Calvin grunted, trying to move against his restraints. The man slapped him across the face with his pistol; Calvin fell right to the floor.

"Changed my mind. Get up and walk to the kitchen." Begrudgingly, I stood up and walked to the blood splattered kitchen. Boris- as I nicknamed the large man- shoved his gun into the small of my back. "Go to the fridge. Grab a drink." I did so, taking out a can of some generic cola. "Get a glass and put ice in it. Pour the soda into the glass and then hold it." With shaking hands, I carried out my instructions. Boris took out a pill bottle full of little oval shaped pills. He took two out and dropped into my drink. He made a motion for me to stir it up.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I debated for a moment. "Erin." I said, knowing he could (and probably would) check the id in my purse. He'd also find a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, lipstick, hairbrush and hair ties, and a photo of Connor, Murphy, Rocco and I tucked into my wallet- the one photo of all four of us that was ever taken.

Boris peered at me. "Erin… you made short work of my recruits. And you follow orders…exceedingly well. Were you in military group at one point?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

He smiled at me. "Drink up, before that gets too stiff. Tends to settle at the bottom."

"What's in it?" I asked without thinking about the consequences.

"You'll find out for yourself. It won't kill you. I promise you that."

Wishing desperately that my boys would hurry, I tipped the glass back and swallowed the contents in one gulp. Boris then put a meaty hand on shoulder and steered me through the living room, into the bathroom. I willed myself to not tremble in absolute fear. He wanted me to be scared; I wouldn't give him that.

He picked me up and sat me on the sink. He turned on the water in the bathtub and started filling it up. "Let me know when you start feeling it, Erin." A few moments of silence passed. My face felt numb and tingly. A voice in my head that sounded like Murphy's was screaming at me. _Fight it, fight it! Fight hard, Ericka. C'mon, that's my girl… you're going to be okay…_

_Murphy? That's strange. _

Boris put a hand to my cheek. "You're too hot. Take off your clothes."

"No…" I muttered incoherently. Boris shrugged and pulled out a switchblade from his pocket. He flicked it open, seized the front of my shirt, and tore it open. "Now. Jeans, if you would." I half slid, half stumbled off the sink and slowly took off my jeans. Boris smiled down at me. "That's a good little slut. Get on the floor."

I don't want to think about what might have happened. My memory fails me when recalling this moment in time. Maybe my mind had managed to drift somewhere else- maybe for that moment I was back in Boston. Rocco was still alive, Annie was still a great friend instead of a great memory, the boys were living with me…Connor was his normal self and Murphy didn't cause my heart to race for no reason. A Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five theory- what happens in the past is still happening in the past, and so on and so forth…

I found myself sitting in the bathtub full of cold water. The bathroom was flooding. I shivered in the water; my body felt hot but I couldn't move. Boris came into the bathroom, wiping blood from his hands. "It's been fun, Erin. It's been fun." He sat on the edge of the tub and stroked the side of my face almost tenderly. He leaned over and whispered into my ear. "Don't fight it, darling." And then without warning, he shoved my head under the frigid freezing water. My lungs burned as I breathed in water. If I had the ability to do so, I would have been sobbing.

_Murphy...Connor...I'm sorry...I couldn't save myself..._


	8. Un Miracolo

**AN- I'm so sad…no reviews for the last chapter! :( If you guys didn't like it… let me know and I'll think about rewriting it. Anyway, here's the new chapter….. and please, please review! I like to know what my readers think!**

**Murphy POV**

It had been a fucking bloodbath, from the looks of it. One bastard in the kitchen with a stab wound to the chest. A guy in the living room who had his throat slit. Alice and her significant other were on the floor, with bullets in their heads. I stood over their bodies, just staring at their lifeless eyes. I felt my eyes sting as I noticed their fingers were interlaced limply; they had been holding hands when they died. My stomach twisted uncomfortably, and the guilt sat heavy on my shoulders.

More innocent people dead. _We could have saved them_.

"Oh my God! Murph!"

Or maybe we couldn't have. I didn't know.

"Murph!" Connor yelled at me again. His voice cracked. I felt my stomach drop. I'd only heard him sound like that once in my whole life.

My heart found it's way to my throat.

It was Ericka.

I ran down the narrow hallway, stopping at the bathroom. Water was all over the place, leaking out into the hall. There were torn up clothes thrown on the floor. Connor kneeled next to the bathtub, looking panicked. "Shit shit shit shit! She's not breathing! She's not breathing!" He looked up at me, the panic and confusion written all over his face.

I had to stay calm. Had to stay calm. "Get her out of there, c'mon… help me pull her out of there…" Connor nodded and grabbed the top half of Ericka's limp body, while I grabbed her legs. I was trying hard to block out the bruises and cuts all over her, ignoring the fact she was half naked…ignoring the stainless steel ball of fear settling in my stomach and the lump forming in my throat.

I bent down over her, listening for breath sounds, feeling for a heartbeat. "Conn, work with me here man. Don't fucking panic, do as I say, and we might be able to help her." Conn nodded frantically again, looking scared and….helpless.

Helpless was not a word that should have ever described Connor. Ever.

I had to fix this somehow.

"Okay…. CPR." I only had a vague idea from reading through Ericka's old textbooks, but I had to fake it- really fake it- to keep Connor calm. "I'm going to pump her heart five times, you breath into her mouth when I pause. Got it? Okay…" I put my hands over her heart and pushed down five times in a row. "Go." Connor bent down over her and gave her a breath.

We kept at it in that same manner for… I don't even know how long it took. It could have been hours. It could have been days. Either way…. Connor kept giving her air, unshed tears shining in his eyes. I kept pumping on her heart, praying. We were both determined to bring her back.

_God please…._

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Breath.

_Don't do this to us… _

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Breath. I heard Connor whispering silent prayers in between breaths.

_Don't do this to my brother…. _

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Breath.

_Don't do this to me._

Loud coughing and gagging noises greeted my ears. I looked up and let out a yelp as the relief coursed through me. Ericka spat out mouthful after of mouthful of water, practically dry heaving, coughing so violently her body shook. Connor immediately moved behind her, helping her sit up. She kept coughing. Her eyes were hazy, like she wasn't entirely there.

"Conn. Take her to the hospital. Someone needs to call the cops, let them know about this shit. I'll meet you down there." He nodded and took off his coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. She didn't acknowledge it, just sat there, limp. In a fashion that suddenly seemed too familiar to me, he gently picked her up and carried her though the apartment. I could have sworn I heard him speaking to her in Gaelic, but then again I could have just been imagining things.

I walked to the kitchen and found the phone lying on the floor. I picked it up and dialed the emergency number-999, staring anywhere but the dead guy in front of me.

"Please state your emergency."

I shuddered at the sudden realization I was standing all alone in a stranger's apartment with four dead bodies. "I need to report a murder." I said. After giving them my 'name' and location, I hung up and paced around the apartment, making sure that I didn't touch anything, making mental notes.

Bullet holes in the couch- maybe two or three of them. I frowned to myself. Why go from one weapon to the other? Why were Alice and her man done execution style, and the other two done so sloppily? And why were they done in different locations?

I spotted the bloody knife that was thrown off to side. _Oh._ The guys with the stab wounds- they were bad guys. Ericka had to have done those two, that much I was sure of. Somehow, she got those two before someone got to her. _Now….who got to her?_ That was the real question.

The handprint shaped bruises on her ribs, the teeth marks on her neck- I felt sick as I remembered those details. I stepped outside and went all the way down the metal staircase to the alley and doubled over as my stomach spilled out onto the pavement. I sat down on the stairs once I was through puking, arms wrapped around my knees, only vaguely aware that my clothes were wet. I never had a weak stomach. Fuck, after all the shit Connor and I had done…. Gore didn't phase me in the least. But this was different….

Ericka. It was Ericka that made all the fucking difference in this situation. If she hadn't been there, this would have been just another murder scene. But she _was _there. And she almost didn't make it.

Fuck, she _shouldn't_ have made it. God knows how long she had gone without oxygen. I don't even know if she had a pulse to begin with- I didn't remember feeling one.

_Halleluiah. A miracle. Now if we can find the fucker that caused this miracle to be necessary in the first place… _

…_.that would be a real miracle within itself. _


	9. Normal

**AN- So I've been for a real writing spree lately. It's nice to feel inspired! Enjoy! Don't forget to review!**

**Connor POV**

Hours later, after endless question from the cops, after a whole multitude of tests, we were finally on our way home.

Ericka was fine- tired, beat up, and sore- but otherwise fine. Miraculously, she had nothing but superficial injuries … though in all truth she shouldn't have been living. She had been under that water long enough to make her lose consciousness….God only knows how long she had been under. She had a large amount of some drug going through her system; the lab tech was baffled by the fact he couldn't identify what it was at first glance. The police agreed to give her a night to recuperate from the whole ordeal before they took her statements. I had so many questions to ask her- what happened, who did it… but after seeing the utterly exhausted look in her eyes, I thought it best to leave it until morning. She didn't say a whole lot to me, or to Murph on the car ride home; she mostly stared straight down into her lap or off in the distance, eyes unfocused….. Practically catatonic. She hardly even blinked at the bright lights of cars passing us on the road.

We walked into the house and went through the usual motions; flicking on lights, hanging up coats and kicking off shoes. It all felt different somehow. It was if the house had taken on entirely feel in the time that we had been gone. Ericka went straight up the stairs, not paying much attention to anything. I heard water run through the pipes; she must have a made a b-line for the shower.

I sat down at the kitchen table and all but laid on the damn thing. I was exhausted. I hear anxiety will do that to a person. _Bad luck just seems to follow us…._

I heard the scraping sound of the chair next to mine being pulled out from underneath the table and heard a body plop down into it. "Murph…. Tell me that there's a way to stop this shit." I looked at him and found a likewise tired face staring back at me. "Fuck… He said. "The issue is how much Ericka actually remembers. If she can tell us anything, then we might have something to go off of."

"She's this guy's only living witness…." I sat up in my chair excitedly. "We could use that to our advantage. If she remembers, all we have to do is track him down. In the meantime Ericka will have to hideout…."

"Which I'm sure won't be an issue. I'll be amazed if she wants to leave the house anytime soon. But we're gambling on a huge 'if' here…" he drummed his fingers on the table. "If she doesn't have any memory of what happened, well then what do we do?"

I frowned. "I don't know. We'll figure it out. Once the hospital gets those test results back and they tell us what drug was in her system, then we might be able to track him that way. Maybe this guy is pushing for someone…"

"If he was pushing for someone, he'd already be dead. The two dead guys, the ones Ericka got-" I cringed slightly. My angel wasn't supposed to kill people, even if they were evil, even if it had been out of self defense- she shouldn't have been in that position to begin with. "-they had to be working for the one who is behind this shit."

"That'd make sense. Maybe this guy is developing some new kind of street drug and is testing it out on unsuspecting victims."

"How's Jaime fit into it? She wasn't drugged."

"As far as we know, she could have been. Maybe she didn't remember it."

Murphy shrugged a shoulder. "It's possible…. Do you know anything about the girl that was in the pier this morning?"

The dead girl's face came back to the surface of my thoughts. Her eyes had been closed, her mouth half opened. Her fingernails were painted red; the polish was chipped a little and contrasted with her white skin. Long blonde hair was curly and fanned out in the water… it was one of the erriest and most heartbreaking sights I had ever seen. She had been young...so young...

"No… I don't know anything about her."

"Not even her name? The cops wouldn't give you that much after you were the one to find her?"

"There wasn't an ID on her. Cops are still trying to figure out who she is at this point."

Murph sighed and looked around fitfully. "We don't have any beer in the house do we? I could really go for one right now." He looked at the fridge wistfully, as if he hoped beer would materialize in the vegetable crisper.

Actually, I felt the same way. A cold beer sounded like heaven after the day we'd had. I wasn't going to sleep much anyway, and I had a feeling Ericka just wanted to be alone. _Might as well get my Irish on_. I got up, grabbing my keys off the table. Murph coughed. It sounded like he was getting sick; it wasn't his usual dry smoker's cough. "Where are you going?"

"Beer run. Haven't drank in a year. Seems appropriate tonight, somehow." Murph snorted at me. "Grab some whisky while you're at."

"You're buying next time." Murph gave me the faintest of smirks and a mock salute. As I stepped out of the house, I couldn't help but smile a little. Despite the sudden chaos and despite the anxiety and fear that was eating at me, it was nice to feel normal again, even it was only for a brief moment.

**Murph POV**

Ericka looked at the detective questioning her, expression carefully blank. I knew that expression quite well. Conn and I shared a glanced, in mutual agreement that A)The detective in charge of this case was a fucking idiot and B) Ericka was about ready to stomp the guy's ass. It was nice to see her acting normal. I know Conn had been worried about her, but thus far, Ericka was was her normal,snarky, smartass self.

"I already told you as much as I remember Detective Nash."

"Sometimes that more you talk about an event, the more you remember about it." Said Nash with a rather condescending tone to his voice. Conn sighed and sat with his chin in his hand, already knowing what was coming. I leaned back in my chair, trying hard to conceal the grin threatening to plaster itself to my face. The situation wasn't funny, but I enjoyed knowing Ericka was about to tear the jackass to pieces.

"Sometimes when you talk about an event, your mind starts to fabricate details- you do know what the word fabricate means, don't you?" Ericka said in an equally condescending tone. Nash folded his arms across his chest. "Why're you makin' this more difficult than it needs to be, miss?"

"Because I've been asked the same set of questions ten times now, and my answers haven't changed. I'm only telling what I for sure remember, because I don't want to give y'all a false lead or something and then you get the wrong guy or something. There's no justice in that, now is there?"

Nash opened his mouth when a door opened and another detective, Washburn, walked in. Washburn was short but he had a smart looking face- he reminded me of Smecker ; he walked with a real swagger to his step. "Nash, if you don't mind, I have a few questions to ask Erin here." Nash looked like he did indeed mind, but said nothing, getting up from his chair and leaving the room. Washburn sat down on the chair Nash previously occupied.

"Why were you there in the apartment to begin with?"

Ericka rubbed her eyes. " I was checking in on Jaime O'Malley's cousin, Alice. Jaime was shot and killed two days ago and I worked on her when she first came in."

"What is your position at the hospital again?"

"Head nurse of the emergency room. I specialize in emergency medicine. I'm good at what I do...I don't take losing patients well. If it happens, I always make an effort to seek out the family and attempt to offer some comfort. You know… take them dinner or something like that, make life easier on them." She bit her lip. "I feel bad that I didn't take them something yesterday." I felt a sudden surge of adoration for her that I couldn't control. I had no idea that she did that; judging by Connor's expression he hadn't known that fact about her either. _She really is full of surprises, like Connor always said. _I felt a pang of guilt. _Stop thinking of her that way. She's your brother's girl. Go find your own._

Washburn gave her a sympathetic look. "Now, what about the two men in addition to Alice and her fiancé that were killed there? Can you tell me anything about them?"

Ericka shook her head. "Not really. The one in the kitchen found me and approached me and I killed in self defense." She sounded disgusted with herself. "I make it sound so simple, don't I? And the other guy, I snuck up behind him."

"Did he pose a threat to you?"

Ericka nodded, looking Washburn dead in the eye. "Yeah, he posed a threat to me. He was an intruder in the apartment, clearly with the third guy. It was him or me."

"Now, this third guy… what do you remember about him?"

Connor and I both leaned forward in our seats, wanting to know what had happened. Connor's hands He were balled up into fists on his knees.

Ericka sighed. "Not much. He was a big guy. I don't remember his face though. He had a low voice. He's Irish, he has the accent… unless he can fake it that well, then I don't know."

"Any tattoos, scars, piercings?"

"None that I remember." Her eyebrows knitted together. "It's all sort of fuzzy. He drugged me…put something in a glass and made me drink it. The next thing I remember is waking up on the bathroom floor with Conall and Murtagh giving me CPR." I cringed at our pseudonyms. " I wish I could give you more to work with, but that's honestly all I remember."

Washburn looked at her for a minute before sighing. "Alright. Well if you remember anything, please contact me." Ericka nodded and averted her eyes downward. Conn reached over and took a hold of her hand; my belly ached from jealously.

"Now, Conall and Murtagh…how did you two wind up in that apartment?"

"We were heading up to our parent's place to pick up some stuff, and she had phoned them from Alice's apartment, wanting us to call her when we got there. I called her back and we had talked for about a minute- just long enough for her to tell us where she was before there were gunshots. We left immediately and drove back." There was silence while Washburn looked over his notes, frowning to himself.

There was a knock on the door. A geeky looking guy with square framed glasses walked in with a manila folder in his hands. "Detective Washburn? I have the results of that tox screened you asked me about."

"Wonderful, thank you Peter. Tell us what it says." Peter quickly fumbled with the file. "Test findings show that the subject had large amounts of Morphine and Scopolamine in her system." He looked up from the file. "In case you don't know, these drugs are mixed together to cause _Dämmerschlaf _or more commonly known as twilight sleep."

"The hell is that?" I asked.

"It started in the 1970's. Basically it's a semi-narcotic that allows the user to go through pain without remembering it. What's strange here though is that according to her account-" he pointed to Ericka. "she ingested it. Typically, when used, it's injected into the body through an IV. Actually, I've never heard of it not being administered intravenously. It's odd."

"Explains why I can't remember shit." Ericka said bitterly. "Any chance I'll remember anything later on?"

"It's possible." Said Peter. "But more than likely if you do, you'll catch flashes of it in dreams, or something will trigger the memory."

Ericka looked around the room before pulling her hand out Connor's and wrapping her arms around herself. She looked so…vulnerable. I felt more tugging at my heartstrings. I wanted so desperately to just hold her..."Can we leave now?" she asked in a soft voice.

Washburn nodded and sighed. "Yeah, go home. Get some rest. Don't worry. We're gonna get this guy."

Ericka smiled sadly at the detective, as if she didn't have much faith in the matter. "I hope so, Detective. I really hope so."


	10. Stop

**AN- Holy hell, this took me forever to write. Just couldn't get it right :/ I'm still not satisfied with it entirely, but oh well. Btw, Pedro the Lion is amazing. Check out 'Secret of the Easy Yoke.' (It's relevant to this chapter/story in general, I swear.) Oh, and lacym3, I would love if you would beta for me. Too lazy to send a pm atm. XD**

**ERICKA POV**

Pain surrounded me. I couldn't describe it but good God, could feel it.

I heard myself screaming. I scolded myself, telling myself to stop….it was just another dream with tall people with blurred out faces and agony. I couldn't stop the noise from leaving my mouth.

"Ericka! Love, c'mon, wake up…wake up for me. It's alright. You're alright, I've got you…."

Murphy kneeled next to me as I laid on the couch, gently shaking me awake. I opened my eyes, tears streaming down my face. "Not again." I said in a horse voice. "Not again. Goddamn…."

Murph brushed the hair out of my face with calloused fingertips. "You were dreaming about it again…." He said, more for his own benefit I think. His eyes looked so sad….And after weeks of those same, sad eyes, I couldn't take it anymore. Scowling, I pushed myself off the couch and wandered to the kitchen.

'It' became the codeword for the episodes I experienced when I slept. Weird, almost epileptic fits. They started a few days after the 'incident' at Alice's apartment. Connor and Murphy were both starting to piss me off with their insistent hovering- if I even so much as breathed wrong they panicked. _It's been… what? Two, maybe three months of this. It's not new anymore._

I had to admit though, it was nice having them around when these fits first started happening. They scared me at first. The first one had happened when I been in the bathtub- I must have fallen asleep in taking a bubble bath. I woke up in pain and gasping for air; strange thoughts filled my head, hazy half forgotten memories that I wasn't sure were real or made up in my mind. I thought I was going crazy. I stayed there, shaking until Murphy found me hours later after he gotten back from class, the water long since cold. He had wrapped a towel around me; helping me stand up and getting me generally back in one piece. He spent that whole night with me on the couch in the living room, holding me, making sure I wasn't going to totally lose it. At the time, I didn't question it… I thought he was just trying to fill up some void or offer comfort. Connor's reaction to my fits was much more panicky, but nowadays he was a little calmer about it….when he was around for them, at least.

I knew he was working extra hours to make ends meet. I knew that, but it didn't stop me from feeling a little bitter. They both decided on my behalf that it would be best if I didn't go back to work until my fits stopped, and until they found the serial drugger- because God forbid he recognized me, even though all it would take to kill him was a bullet aimed dead center mass- the heart. I didn't fuck around with that headshot bullshit. Shoot to kill, not shoot to look badass. Anyway, it seemed he- _whatever the hell his name is_- was on the move, or his operations had spread out to other slimy creepers. He was a busy man. Thankfully, no one else had turned up dead.

Yet.

I had no idea how they were going to catch the guy. If Connor wasn't at work, he was catching a couple hours of sleep, a shower, and occasionally a meal and then he was gone again. I couldn't actually remember the last time we had slept together- in any sense of the word. I was pretty sure I had slept on the couch with Murph close by more than I had my own bed in the last few weeks. If he wasn't at class, Murph was at the house with me. I had my suspicions he had either quit or gotten fired from his job, but who was I to judge him for that? I couldn't even have a job, considering I was hiding out because some huge hulking guy tried to kill me.

I was getting really sick of being babysat all the time. I hated sitting inside the house, doing nothing but thinking. I wanted to go back to work and actually do what I was good at- what I loved to do. I was useless just sitting around. I twisted a lock of curly hair in my fingers as I leaned against the counter. _Maybe I could cut my hair or something…dye it maybe? Wonder if I'd look good blonde. _

Murph came around the corner and stood in front of me. He looked at me for a few moments with that same sad look still on his face, then reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear. I had become so used to him doing that exact motion over the course of the last couple months, I wasn't even fazed by the action, or by how close he was standing to me.

"Ericka. Look at me." He lifted up my chin. "We're gonna get him, alright?"

"It doesn't matter." I said passively. Murph's face was incredulous. "Doesn't matter? Ericka, whatever the fuck that guy did to you really screwed something up in that head of yours."

"I'm fine, Murphy." he noticeably winced when I tacked on the 'y' to his name. "Christ, you act like I'm about to fall apart or something."

"You should see yourself. You're jumpy, skiddish, and those dreams you have? You have them all the time, and I know for a fact that when you do sleep you don't actually sleep. It's like you relive the whole thing over and over…It breaks my fucking heart to see you like this." His eyes were bright, and not in the happy way. Or maybe those were my tears threatening to spill over.

"Alright. Fine. Maybe I am a little fucked in the head now. Doesn't mean you have to hover around and take care of me. Conn sure hasn't been around, I'm sure I'd be fine if you went off and did something besides watching me all fucking day. I'm not a child, and I don't need yours or Connor's or anyone else's fucking sympathy. Yes, something awful happened, but that doesn't mean the world stops moving. Go out. Do something!" I was yelling at this point, mainly because there was so much pent up energy and angst that maybe I took it a bit out proportion. Okay, a lot out of proportion.

Murph looked at me strangely, like he was debating saying or doing something. Instead he took a breath and three steps back from me. "Yeah…. I, um, I'm sorry. Just trying to look out for you." His hand went to his pockets instead of his mouth; that was never a good sign. Nail biting meant he was thinking. Nervous, maybe, but thinking. Hands in the pockets meant something was really bothering him, but he didn't want to give himself away.

"Murph?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

He bit his lip and shook his head, slightly rounding his shoulders. "Nothing, love, it's…. nothing."

Silence filled the air. It wasn't a usual, comfortable silence we could fall into. It was thick, staticky, and unsettling. I knew he had something else he wanted to say….. he was holding back. And if I knew Murphy at all, I knew it would be a matter of time before he cracked and actually said what he was thinking.

I stepped around Murph and pulled out a couple beers from the fridge, handing one to him. Beer had turned into a sort of white-flag, offering of peace between the two of us. We fought, we yelled, and then one of us would come to the other with a couple of beers and a pack of smokes. Murph looked at his bottle pensively, before shrugging and popping the lid off.

We sat down on the couch and sipped our beers in silence. Murphy was still- no fidgeting or foot tapping or his leg bouncing up and down. I felt a little unnerved by his lack of movement. He only got that still when something was seriously wrong.

You know the phrase, 'let the sleeping dog lie'? I should have just stuck with that Zen advice.

"Murph? Hey, look at me for a sec." Murph looked and locked his eyes with mine. "Yeah?"

"You know you can come to me for anything, right?" He gave a dark chuckle. "Sure."

"What?" I asked, growing frustrated at his smug expression. "What IS it, Murph?"

He sighed and put his bottle- which was still curiously full- on the coffee table, looking down at the floor with his fingers interlaced. "Ericka…. Just let it go, alright?"

"No. No I will not 'let it go,' okay? Something is bothering you, and bad too. C'mon… talk to me."

He just sighed again, shaking his head. "I don't WANT to talk about it."

"Why not? What? You think I'm going to judge you or some shit? I would never-"

"On this one, yeah, you would. Just trust me. It's not something you need to know anyway…"

Now I was pissed. Flat out pissed off. _Why won't he fucking talk to me?_

"The fuck it isn't something I need to know. You spend most of your time around me, it's kind of my fault if you're upset over something."

"Upset?" He snorted.

"What? Is there another word you'd prefer me to use there?" He didn't answer me. I pulled my hair back, buying some time, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to get him to talk about the apparently unapproachable topic. I settled on the truth.

"Look, you want to hear something kinda messed up? I feel closer to you than I do Conn here anymore. I don't even feel like I'm part of his life anymore… it's like he forgot about me."

Murph furrowed his brow at me. "He hasn't forgotten about you? You know he cares."

"When the most you see of someone is their shadow and dirty clothes in the laundry basket, it becomes hard to not resent them even a little bit, Murph." He reached over and took a hold of my hand, as he was apt to do these days. "I dunno what I did or didn't do... I feel like he's avoiding me or something."

He gave my hand a squeeze before drawing back. "I'm sure that's not the case…."

It dawned on me. "You don't even know what he's doing, do you?"

"No… he hasn't said much to me since we found you in Alice's apartment." He paused, face tight. He was _pissed_. "You know, I thought he was going to pull his head outta his ass and start acting like himself again… it's fucking ridiculous. And I thought I was the headcase…." And that damn bruised and guilty look crossed his face again.

"Murph. For the millionth time now. What is the matter?"

Murph put his face in his hands , voice muffled slightly when he spoke, but he sounded nothing short of… agonized. "Please, just stop, Ericka. Just stop. Forget it." I stared at his back as he got up from the couch and walked away, one hand in his pocket, his other arm wrapped around his torso, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. Or like he wanted to crawl under a rock and never surface again. I couldn't decide which description fit him better.

I was baffled. Granted, Murphy was a mixed, unpredictable and at times volatile bag of emotions, but this was one emotion he had never actively displayed. _What is the fucking problem? He's acting… sad._ I scoffed at the notion.

_Sad? Not Murphy. Not ever. _

Time to get the bottom of this shit.

I got up and followed him to the front door, where he was patting down his pockets, obviously looking for something. He had a system for where he kept everything, and heaven forbid something went missing or was in the wrong place. He lapsed into a fit of searching everywhere for that one thing, only to usually find it in the wrong pocket. Wallet in the left back pocket, keys and lighter in the front right, smokes in the left front or right back pocket, depending on how full the pack of cigarettes was.

"Lighter's in your right back pocket. Where you normally lose it." Murph looked up at me briefly before checking for himself. He held up the silver lighter and shook his head before putting in the proper place. I gave him a small smile that he didn't return; he wouldn't even hold my gaze.

Slowly I walked over to him and stood right in front of him. He took a step back, trying to create space, backing into the wall. "What are you doing?" His voice was so quiet, hardly audible.

Good question. What _was_ I doing?

Honest answer. "I don't know." I said, looking up into his eyes. They were blue. Not like the ocean. Sharp, light, almost silvery. They were still sad. I wanted that sadness to go away.

I reached up and touched his face on impulse. He hadn't shaved in a couple days; the stubble was rough against my palm. His eyes closed. "You should stop…" He said in the same quiet and strained voice. I put my hand down and shoved my hands in my pockets, but didn't back away.

He took a breath, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it. He set his hands on my shoulders and stared down into my face for a moment before pulling me to him. My arms wrapped themselves around his body, head resting on his chest. We stood like that for a while, not saying anything.

Creature comfort, is what they call the little things that make life more bearable, or make them feel at home. Most people defined their coffeemakers and electric blankets as a creature comfort. Mine happened to be the man that was holding me. He wasn't who I needed. But he would do.


	11. Left

**AN- Yay! New chapter! More angst! Woohoo! Don't forget to review, por favor! It would totally make my day. =] Funfact: Song that I listened to a lot while writing this was Armor For Sleep's 'Vanished." So good. **

I was going to kill Connor the next time I saw him. Not hurt, not maim, not seriously injure- no, he was a dead man walking.

We had slept on the couch…again. Ericka hadn't slept in her own bed in weeks, and her episodes were getting worse and worse. It was frustrating watching her toss and turn night after night, knowing she was reliving whatever hell she had been through. This time, she fell asleep in my arms. I felt guilty; the guilt was lessened when I remembered the fact Connor wasn't around to actually comfort her. Honest to God, I never knew where he went. As Ericka said, he was avoiding us, and was doing a damn good job of it too.

I woke to the sound of breaking ceramic. I jerked awake and stumbled into the kitchen instinctively, adrenaline pumping. Ericka stared at a piece of paper on the counter. My eyes went from her to the broken glass on the floor- apparently she had thrown it.

I hurried over to her. "Ericka, hey, hey now, what is it? What's-"

"Nothing, apparently." she said bitterly. She brushed past me, hurrying to pick up the broken dish. "So you throw dishes across the room over nothing now?" I asked dumbly.

She swept up the shards almost feverishly. "He left. In the middle of the night. All he left was a note and a large wad of cash on the kitchen counter. Guess that's better than nothing…" She dumped out the dustpan and practically ran past me. I heard the front door open and then an engine start. I had half a mind to stop her from leaving, but something told me to just let her go for the moment.

The piece of paper on the counter was the cheap yellow kind you find on legal pads. I picked it up and read through Connor's neat handwriting: _It's better this way. Watch yourselves. Please. _I turned it over- nothing on the back of it.

_That's it?_

No explanation, no nothing? A fucking seven word note?

There was no justifying that.

I crumbled up the paper and threw it onto the counter and started combing the house for his stuff. Ericka was right; he had taken most of his belongings- which admittedly, wasn't much. His duffel was gone too. I grabbed mine from my closet and checked it- to my surprise, everything was still there. Actually, there was more ammo than before, and an extra .09 millimeter. I tried to figure out how the bullets and gun had spawned in my bag, but came up empty on solutions. _Maybe Connor put it there. _It made the most sense anyway. I rolled with it. I wanted to believe my brother still had a shred of decency.

I glanced at the clock on my dresser_. 9 am? Fuck…. .It's going to be a long day_. I rubbed my eyes, and wandered around the house, more out of needing something to do keep myself busy. The house was in disarray. Ericka had pretty much given up trying to keep everything in order, and instead just let everything pile up. Dirty dishes from the past couple days laid in the sink, crusted pasta noodles still stuck on a pan. The trash was beginning to overflow. Newspapers and mail were tossed on top of the microwave without much thought. I felt a twinge of guilt upon realizing that neither Connor or I had ever helped much in keeping up the house.

I moved onto the living room. Clothes (namely socks) were strewn all over the place, coffee cups and glasses here and there. Dust had accumulated on the shelf Ericka had insisted on putting up, just for photos. I smiled to myself as I looked over the memories of better times. There was one of Rocco wearing his shades, beer bottle in hand, in all his drunk Italian glory. _Cheeky bastard. Could use his humor right now._ One of me and Connor after we got our first tattoos, proudly showing them off and grinning like idiots. One of Ericka and her brother, Erik, both in military class A's, side by side standing at whatever they called it- the one stance where the hands are behind the back. They looked alike; there was denying that they were related. One of Ericka and Conn, about a week after we told her that we were the Saints- One of us- I think it had actually been Roc- who had gone camera happy and bought a cheap disposable camera. The film had been used up in one drunken night, and most of the pictures were blurry or of random things, like the wall or ceiling fans. This was one of few that had actually turned out. I squinted at it. They looked…happy. Ericka's eyes never lit up the way anymore. My mind made itself up as I looked at that photo.

I'd bring that light back to her eyes one way or another. Connor might have jumped shipped, but I wouldn't.

_Guilty feelings gone, motherfucker._


	12. Gleam

**AN- All I have to say this chapter is... **gulp** Review and tell me how you really feel. :)**

**Ericka POV**

When I was young, I was to be great at hide and seek. It was an enviable talent in childhood…. I guess that skill didn't stick with me as I grew up. Wherever Connor was hiding, I couldn't find him. I checked the usual places- his work, Ma and Da's, the bars we used to frequent. Checked with the police department- to which all I got were a few sympathetic looks and a 'sorry, we can't help you.'

He was truly gone.

It was a strange feeling to come home, knowing that he wasn't there. Sobering, actually. I think I sat inside my car for ten minutes, trying to muster up the courage to admit he wasn't there, nor was he coming back. Finally, after letting out a sigh that I couldn't hold in, I got out of my car and walked to the house, letting myself inside with a feeling of dread. It was going to be a very long, and very sleepless night.

I was hit by the smell of lemon pledge and the sounds of someone humming from the kitchen. Instantly, I went into 'holy shit something's wrong' mode and dropped to a crouch, hugging the wall. My heart pounded, my mouth dry.

_This is familiar. Too fucking familiar._ I had this exact stance at one time, this exact reaction… but _when, _I couldn't recall. Not that it mattered now, really. I grabbed my gun- a sleek little 9 mil out of my purse, and turned the safety off. Normally, one of the first rules of firing a weapon of any kind would be to keep the safety on until you go to fire. In this case, I made an exception. If someone had broken into the house, I was not going to fight fair.

I slowly made my way down the hallway and to the kitchen doorway. I heard footsteps and the humming sound move close to the doorframe. I waited with baited breath to fire, the palms of my hands sweaty on the textured grip. A man came around the corner.

"Jesus Christ!" he jumped back. "Ericka! The fuck are you doing?"

I froze and stared. "Fuck…." I realized my mistake. "Fuck, Murphy…." I immediately flicked the safety back on. "You scared the fucking shit out of me."

"_I _scared _you?"_ He looked at me incredulously. "You 'bout gave me a fucking heart attack there."

"Guess I'm paranoid then…" I shook my head and walked past him into the kitchen, intent on getting a glass of… well, something. I wasn't sure if I wanted water and a Tylenol or if I wanted to get straight up drunk. _Either way… I think wandering around the house with a locked and loaded weapon is hovering right above rock bottom. The only way my day could get worse is if…. Actually, I don't think my day CAN get any worse. _

Murph came up to me and gently pulled the gun out of my hand, setting it on top of the fridge. I had half forgotten I was holding the thing. "Ericka… " he started but then stopped, shaking his head. I didn't feel like pushing the issue. I felt like doing something. Cleaning, Perfect outlet for my slight OCD tendencies and frustration. I went to pull out of a can of Comet and a Brillo bad from under the sink, when I realized that the sink was already clean. No. Not clean. It was fucking _gleaming._

Oh.

"Murphy? Did you…clean?"

He snorted. "Of course, NOW you notice after trying to shoot me." He grinned down at me when he saw me raise a fist to punch him, looking a little relieved. "Yeah, I cleaned. I uh… I felt kind of bad that you've been the only one to keep the place in order since we got here….thought I'd help out."

Despite my rather foul mood, I smiled up at him. "Thank you, Murph. It looks great in here." I looked around at everything. He had to have spent the entire day cleaning the joint. I was actually touched by his random act of kindness. "Don't mention it." He mumbled, ruffling his hair with the hand that wasn't in his pocket.

I looked around and sighed, exhaustion weighing down on me. Screw drinking. I just wanted to sleep. "I think I'm gonna try and go to bed…. In my own bed." I didn't miss the slightly sad look to cross his face, but nonetheless, he nodded, reached out and gave my hand a squeeze before walking out of the room.

I stumbled upstairs and took a hot shower, half asleep. I didn't think sleep would be a problem for me. As soon as I laid down, my head started spinning. The sheets smelled just like Connor. The scent was as comforting as it was upsetting. My eyes prickled uncomfortably.

Where the fuck was he? Why did he just run off like that? This wasn't like Connor, not at all. There had to be a reason… even if he didn't _want_ me anymore, he would have told me…

Right?

I couldn't take the mental gauntlet I was putting myself through. I wanted to cry, or scream, or something… but I wouldn't do that. I couldn't do that. I crawled out of bed, and as an afterthought, took off the ring Connor had given me and put it in a dresser drawer. Why wear it when it meant nothing?

I made my way down the stairs and to the couch. I tossed and turned. I stared down at the pictures on the shelf for a while. The people in those pictures were strangers, I decided. I didn't know them. I finally gave up after a while and trudged back upstairs.

I passed Murph's room, pausing for a moment. The door was slightly ajar and I could hear Murph's heavy breathing. I debated for two seconds what I was about to do, and then walked in unannounced and uninvited. It was dark and I was exhausted out of my mind. And I couldn't see. At all. My foot found it's way into a random object, which resulted in me tripping and landing face first onto the wood floor with a loud bang. "Ow…"

I heard Murph almost instantly sit bolt upright in bed, hand already reaching for the gun I know he kept under his pillow. "Just me, Murph. Just me." I looked up to see his silhouette swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing in here?" he sounded sleepy.

"Um… I couldn't sleep. I was going to just sleep next to you or something…" I swallowed. I was being weird. And creepy. _Dear God. Time to bail_. "Sorry, I'll just-" I started to get up when he was suddenly on the floor next to me.

"No! No, hey, don't go. You're fine, love." he reached out with an unsteady hand and touched my cheek. His hand was warm, almost hot. I felt myself shiver a little. "I know you won't believe me when I tell you this, but it's gonna be alright. Promise you. It's gonna be okay." I couldn't look him in the eyes, but I felt his gaze going right through me, like a knife. A half cocked idea formed in my brain, and there was no stopping it.

"Murph…. "

"Yeah?"

"Promise you won't judge me?"

Pause. "Of course not. Why are you asking that?"

I leaned into him and let my brain shut off. Instinct could guide me here.

Our lips met. I heard him sigh and instantly the kiss deepened. Slow. Sweet. His hand wound itself into my hair; he pulled away and pressed his forehead against mine. "Are you sure about this, love?" I heard the ache in his voice, mirroring my own form of desperation.

It was clear then. This couldn't be a one time thing. He was too invested, too attached to just walk away. I knew then and there, I was going to break his heart. I didn't know when, where or, how…. But deep down I knew it would happen. And the awful, vile, selfish and horrible person that I was kept going with it, not having the goddamned will power to stop.

"Yeah… I'm sure." I whispered.

He kissed me again, and this time there was no hesitation. Frantic, desperate, and lustful. Hands wandered to places they shouldn't have gone. Clothes were tugged off and forgotten. Wants mentioned, then immediately answered. Senses reeled. The wooden floor was covered in sweat, slippery. We crawled to bed, we collapsed and fell asleep.

In every story, there's a darling or a harlot, a sinner or a saint. It just depends on the light you tell the story in that determines if the characters are good or evil.

I don't know which one I was in this case. At the time I just didn't care.


	13. Helpless

**AN- So, I got impatient and decided to post the next chapter. Here it is, in all it's unbeta'd glory. My beta rocks. However, sometimes I do dumb things like this. I think it's alright though. If I missed any huge glaring grammatical errors or whatnot, feel free to throw things at me. Next chapter is almost ready, btw, and _that_ is beta'd. Woo. Alright. Enough rambling. Read on. **

**Murph POV**

We didn't talk about what had happened that night. It was an untouched subject. I let it go in lieu of keeping the tension to a minimum.

Things went back to normal. Kind of. Ericka still slept on the couch. She went back to work-something she all but dared me to argue with her on- and I found a bartending job at a rundown pub- Dublin had _plenty_ of bars. There was a constant shortage of barhands, so finding a job was no issue.

No, _home_ was the issue. Being in the same room with Ericka resulted in tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The constant rigid set of her shoulders when I walked into the room and her short, often times monosyllabic answers to questions I asked her had me backing away…at first. Now I was more than just a little hurt.

I walked in the door from work, bottle of wine in hand. Contrary to popular belief, I enjoy wine more than beer and whisky. It was hard to find a good bottle of it though, so I hardly ever got to drink it. Ericka sat on the couch, staring at the tv, leaned forward in interest. "Earlier this evening, Dublin Police found the body of a twenty eight year old man, and a bag of the street drug _Le Sommiel _as it's rumored to be called in the pier. According to local residents, there was an altercation between the man and an alleged drug runner…."

Ericka shook her head and pulled her hair back, not yet aware of my presence. "Conn…what'd you get yourself into?"

"What makes you so sure Connor's involved with that?" Ericka looked over her shoulder at me, face turning slightly sour. "Just got a feeling is all."

I snorted. _Sounds like something Connor would say._

I grabbed two glasses from the kitchen then sat down on the couch, much to Ericka's obvious dismay. She got up to leave, but I put a hand on her should. "Can we please talk?" I flicked off the TV.

"About?"

"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

She sat back down, but she looked tense. I poured her a glass and handed it to her before pouring my own. There was a moment of silence. "You want to explain why you've been giving me the cold shoulder?"

She looked around before she sighed, hunching over. "I fucked up, Murph. I shouldn't have…we shouldn't have…" her voice trailed off, sounding guilty.

"Why? Was the sex that awful?" It was a horrible attempt at humor, but I would've given anything to see her laugh or smile at that moment.

"No…." she actually blushed for a split second. "If I hadn't enjoyed it, I probably wouldn't feel half as bad as I do right now."

I furrowed my brow. I was confused. Clueless, actually. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Murph… look, I was desperate at the time. I just… needed someone. It isn't fair to you..." She looked disgusted with herself. I took a sip of my untouched wine.

"And how do you reckon that, love?" I had to fight hard to keep the venom out of my voice. I doubt the use of the word 'reckon' helped me out there.

"Because you…just… fuck. Forget it, Murph."

I couldn't contain myself anymore.

"No. I can't just _forget _it, Ericka. Okay? I can't help these feelings, because if I could, I would. It could be- no, it _should_ be someone else, _anybody_ else, but no. No, it just had to be you. My brother's girl." I shook my head. "You shouldn't feel guilty. You're not the asshole here."

She was silent. Shame practically radiated from her. I put my glass down on the table. "Look… look at me." She hesitantly did. "I know I'm not Connor. I know I can't replace him and I can't bring him back from wherever he ran off to…but please, give me a chance. If he comes back, I'll back off and act like nothing happened. He wouldn't know." I felt like I was pleading- and hell, maybe I was.

She put her glass down next to mine, nailing me with the most soul piercing of gazes. "Are you sure you could just stop if he comes back?"

Truthfully, I didn't know. I said yes anyways.

* * *

><p>Hours later, we were in my bed, curled up in post coital bliss. My head felt warm and fuzzy, partially from the wine we drank and partially from the sex goddess that was Ericka. She somehow knew the right buttons to press, the right places to touch. For lack of a better way to put it…it was fucking <em>hot. <em>She had finally slipped into sleep, hair a tangled and perfectly mussed up mess, a delicate blush on her cheeks. I took a moment to appreciate how angelic she looked at that moment before closing my own eyes for the night.

I heard noises from downstairs. I held my breath, listening hard. Footsteps were coming up the stairs… I thought for a split second it might have been Connor…but Connor's footsteps didn't sound like that. His were an even tempo, sometimes with a slight shuffle to them. No, these footsteps were from someone who was _trying_ to go undetected.

I slowly crawled out of bed and pulled on my jeans, seeing as how they were the first article of clothing I could find, grabbing a hold of the gun under my pillow. After reconsidering, I gently shook Ericka awake. She jolted awake rather violently, fist almost connecting with my fast. I grabbed her wrist and pressed a hand to her mouth, whispering as quiet as I could in her ear. "Get dressed as fast as you can. There's someone in the house. Stay quiet." Her eyes widened but she nodded and bolted right out of bed as soon as I moved my hand away.

The footsteps stopped in front of the door. I saw shoes- fancy looking ones, in the crack between the floor and the door. The doorknob started turning. I flicked off the safety and crouched by the wall behind the door. Ericka dove underneath the bed silently.

The door creaked opened, and slow footsteps followed. "I know you're in here, you little slut." Said a dark voice. I felt goosebumps break out all over my bare arms. "You know you want to play games again. Of course, you wouldn't remember…now would you? Come on, Erin. Or Ericka. Whatever your name actually is, it doesn't matter to me. Come out to play."

Whoever the guy was, he stood in the middle of the doorway, not moving. I felt my legs start to cramp from crouching for so long.

"Don't make me come look for you. I know you're here." He chuckled. "It'll be worse for you if we drag this out."

Ericka slowly stood up from the floor, hands up in the air. I wanted to scream at her, but that would give me away. I still had an advantage. I could nail this guy, I just had to be patient. She looked straight forward, eyes glazed over. "Tell me… you really think I wouldn't find you again?"

"Well I don't remember anything. So, no, I didn't think you would." She said dryly, hands still in the air.

"Guess I'll have to refresh your memory then…won't I?" He took a few steps forward and shut the door. He still hadn't noticed me.

Ericka slowly started to back away from him. He was tall, broad shouldered and had an all around terrifying air about him. I stood up and took aim at him. "I wouldn't shoot if I were you. Not if you want to see your brother alive, that is." I stopped cold and Ericka's composure broke. She put her hands down and stood there, hands balled into fists. "Where is he?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"You'll find out." He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, turning around to look at me. I felt rage well up inside of me. It was the guy from the pier, the one that killed Jaime. He recognized me. My hands shook.

"Planning any acts of heroism tonight?" I kept my mouth shut and tried to calm down enough to think straight. Ericka looked…scared. Not worried, or mildly wary. No, she was downright fucking terrified.

"Don't do anything. Please, don't do anything." She said, voice cracking. The man grinned at me, his weapon digging deep into Ericka's side. I hadn't noticed it before. "Do what I say, and one of you might make it out alive. Drop the gun." Begrudgingly, I did, only because he had Ericka in his grasp. I tried to catch her eye, tried to give her some assurance it would be alright.

He nodded in approval. I glowered at him. "Now, Murphy. Be a good boy now. Don't make me regret not killing you on the spot." I felt my whole body go numb. He knew our real names. He knew how to get to us, in every sense of the phrase. The sadistic bastard had us right where he needed us.

_Helpless_.

"Get dressed. Both of you." He looked like the devil himself as his face split into a wide grin. "I think it's time we visit your brother now."

***cough! cough* review!* (please?) **


	14. Reward

**AN- So... judging from the lack of reviews from last chapter (thank you Rosiline ****for being the sole reviewer last chapter), you guys are getting sick of the Ericka/Murphy saga, eh? That's okay, I was getting rather sick of writing it. **

**Let's welcome Connor back, shall we? And thanks to quirk1994 for letting me borrow her material about cats. **

**Connor POV**

My heart hurt.

Come to think of it, so did the rest of my body.

"The fuck are you thinking?" Pete yelled. "Throwing _le sommeil_ in the fucking pier! We would've been set for the next six months!" Spittle sprayed from his mouth onto my face. I cringed a little. Le sommeil is French for 'The Sleep.' A very fitting name for the drug, in my opinion. Twilight Sleep in a pill. Fucking ingenious, actually. Creeps on the streets were after it- and it was worth a pretty penny.

"I could fucking kill you. Know that? I really should." He got off my chest and walked away. Gingerly, I sat up. I felt a pain in my side. Great. My ribs were probably cracked again.

Working for a deranged, power hungry drug dealer was proving to be a miserable experience. Not that I had any other options.

Detective Washburn, of the Dublin PD, had done his research. He'd connected the dots. Added two and two together to get three, so to speak. He knew about me and Murphy and the whole Saints thing, and he knew about Ericka and Rocco too. I have no idea _how _he knew_,_ but it didn't matter so long as he didn't turn us in. Apparently he decided that, rather than giving us up to the American feds, we could use our talents to further his already stellar career.

I found him waiting in the backseat of my car one night, about a month after Ericka was… whatever had happened to her. I didn't like thinking about it. I couldn't stomach the thought actually.

Washburn had put a gun to my head as soon as I sat in the driver's seat. "Better do what I tell you to, MacManus. Don't reach for the gun I know you have on you. " I put my hands up in the air. He immediately cuffed my wrists to the steering wheel.

"Now, you better listen and listen to me _real _good. I know who you and brother are. Running around the city you two lived in, popping off bad guys like it was nothing. Yeah, you two are as guilty as they come."

No point in beating around the bush. "So what are you gonna do? Turn me in?"

"I could." He quirked an eyebrow. "But I prefer blackmail. Too much paperwork bringing someone in."

I rolled my eyes. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

He pursed his lips together. "Your help," he had said.

The plan? Infiltrate the drug dealer's inner circle. Bring Washburn solid proof, evidence, addresses- anything that could help the Dublin cops nab the guy.

I decided to go at it alone. Ericka didn't need to more to worry about. I was terrified of her leaving the house for fear of her attacker roaming around- I still wasn't sure _who_ it was. The people in Pete's circle kept tight lips. Murph couldn't know about it, because knowing him he'd want to get in on the action….but someone had to be around to look out for Ericka. Not that she couldn't take care of herself…. but her night terrors were getting worse and worse. Even if she wanted to deny, she _needed_ that pillar of support, and Murph would stick tight to her. I was sure of it.

It actually made _sense_ to me now why Murphy kept his thing with the Russian bar a secret from us.

How was the plan working out? Not well at all. Getting in with him was one thing. Staying with him and staying alive was another altogether. The drug dealer turned out to be a very paranoid, very skittish man. I didn't even know his name- I nicknamed him Pete…not I would ever call him that to his face. Working for him was grueling- lots of drug running to various scumbags, lots of getting my ass kicked, lots of 'scoping out' hotspots for young, attractive females to test 'products' out on. Thankfully, I had yet to be around for one of these 'test sessions'….I doubted I could have stopped myself from blowing my cover and trying to kill the guy.

All in all, I was miserable. I just wanted to go home- not to the mattress I slept on in the warehouse where Pete ran his operations, not to a run down hotel room- no, I wanted _my _bed, _my _life, _my _girl and _my_ brother. I didn't care what awaited me when I went home finally- when I'd finally be able to explain everything, _why_ I left randomly…. Ericka probably hated me. Murphy probably wanted to kill me. I was stilling kicking myself over the note I left. _As if leaving as few words on piece of paper is enough to justify vanishing into thin air… _

But it would be worth it in the end…if I made it that far.

_Just a little while longer. Just a little while longer…._

I stood up from the floor and tried not to wince. My side was _really_ hurting. Pete crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you okay? Did I hit you too hard?" His voice dripped with malice.

I fought against the pain, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. "No."

"What have I taught you?"

My guess is that Paul had watched Fight Club a few too many times. "Pain is a figment of my imagination."

He smiled. "Exactly." He took a deep breath. "Come here. I have something to show you." I walked over to him and he pointed to a metal door. "In there."

"What's in there?"

A sinister smile crept across his face. I got the chills. "A reward."

"Um…. For what?" I asked bluntly.

"Are you questioning me?"

"No… but considering you just beat the shit outta me for losing part of your shipment, I guess you could say I'm curious."

He sneered at me. "Curiosity killed that cat."

_Well, it was a noble fucking cat then. _

He nodded towards the door. "Go on. You'll like what you see, I promise." Slowly, I took a breath and opened the heavy metal door and walked inside.

Pete lied. I really did not like what was in front of me.

"He looks familiar, yes?"

I was paralyzed. Murph glared up at me from the chair he was tied to, looking relatively unharmed but angry. _So angry_. I couldn't look at him.

"No…." I said, looking to Pete. "No, I don't recognize him." My mouth was dry, my heart pounded, and I started to think of a plan, a way out. There _had _to be one. My tattoos were covered up thanks to some heavy duty makeup- Washburn's idea, not mine, and I was actually grateful he had thought of it. Murph and I could pass as strangers, at least for the moment.

Pete shrugged, impassive, then gestured to the pane of glass on the wall, kind of like what you'd find in an interrogation room in a police station. "So you don't know the woman in there?" I stepped around the corner to the glass. My heart stopped for a moment. Ericka paced the room frantically. It was empty, aside from a mattress tucked in the corner. She was thinner, that I noticed. No, thinner was the wrong word. _Emaciated_ was the word I meant. Her clothes hung off her tiny frame.

Pete clapped me on the shoulder. "Two way mirror. We can see her, but she can't see us. It's a great way to observe subjects. I kind of enjoy watching them panic when we test things on them. Better than television." Behind us, I heard Murph buck against his restraints.

"Mother fucker! I'll fucking kill you if you hurt her!" He bellowed. Who that statement was directed at, I wasn't sure, but I heard the audible panic in his voice.

Pete glanced over his shoulder. "_Now_ you want to talk? Stupid fuck." He walked over and looked down into Murph's face before punching him in the jaw. I heard his sharp intake of breath- no doubt trying hard to mask the pain. Pete could through a good punch. I knew that from personal experience. "Shut your mouth, and maybe Paul will go easy on you both. Maybe." he smirked as Murph settled back into the chair, jaw clamped shut, eyes absolutely burning with rage.

"So you _don't_ know these two?"

I tried hard to sound apathetic. "Never seen 'em in my life."

He smirked. "Guess Paul was wrong. It's a good thing I suppose. Wouldn't want you to feel bad. I know how…" he paused, searching for the right word. "_Sensitive _you are. I'm going to allow Paul to do some 'product' testing on her. Might want to consider watching…you could stand to learn a thing or two. And do what you will with this prick," he nodded at Murph. "But I need to see his body when I return. Clear?"

"Yeah… crystal clear."

He walked out the door, closing it behind him. I waited until I heard his footsteps faded before I knelt down in front of Murph- if I let him out of the chair, there was no doubt in my head he would come at me swinging. We didn't have time for that kind of shit.

I prayed there were no cameras or wires in the room. "Murph… I am so sorry about all of this."

"Save it." He said through gritted teeth. "What the fuck is this place? Where are we? Who in the fuck are these people?"

"It's a warehouse that Pete set up to run his operations out of. Place is a fucking elaborate maze and decked to the nines with security. He's making and selling a valuable street drug, in the meantime testing shit out on different people. All the girls that were killed out in the real world are a result of a test failing- either the drug is too weak or too strong- the girl remembers something or OD's." I thought this would be enough to pacify him for the time being, but I was wrong.

"So what? You thought you'd come play the undercover cop?" Couldn't be there for your own fucking fiancé but you can do this shit?" He sneered. "You're fucked up."

I winced a little. "You don't understand, Murph. Washburn _knows_ about us. The guy that handled Ericka's case? Yeah, he knows _who_ we are. It was blackmail."

"So why not fucking tell us? Tell me? Do you realize the absolute hurt you put her through? Shit's been killing her, Connor!" It all kept coming back to Ericka. The red flag this brought up was moved to the back of my mind due to the massive pile of shit we were in.

"-and maybe if you fucking told us we wouldn't be here right now!"

I shook my head. "Look, we can talk later. We _have _to get out of here. Now."

He glared at me, but he nodded. "Get me the fuck outta this chair then." I went behind him and ripped off the duct tape from around his wrists and feet. He looked at me. "Now what? Can't just waltz out of here if there's security cameras and shit all over."

"You fucking slut! Come here!" Murph and I both went rigid at the noises coming from the speaker in the wall, looking up at the window. Ericka was joined in the room by Paul, the unofficial product tester. He was a creepy son of a bitch; I had avoided working with him with all costs. Apparently Ericka had done something that he didn't like, judging by the murderous look on his face. Paul pulled out a knife, flicking it open. "Better be a good girl now." I felt sick with rage. I couldn't wait to get my hands around his throat.

"Do you know the way in there? Are the rooms connected or something?" asked Murph, still staring through the window. "No…I told you… this place is a maze." I looked around for something- a door, maybe. I looked up at the ceiling and felt a familiar plan forming as I stared at the air vent.

"Too bad we don't have any rope." I muttered aloud.

"Are you fucking shitting me with this right now?" he tore his eyes away from Ericka to stare at me with a look of exasperation. "Rope? Have you gone full retard? What the-" Murph followed my gaze and a look of comprehension followed.

"Well now." He brought a thumb to his mouth as he looked at the air vent, the gears in his head turning. "Think we got ourselves a plan."

****cough! cough!** Please review? It'd make my week. Not even kidding.**


	15. Air Assault

**New Chapter! That's not depressing! Paarrtttaaaaaay! Woo! Oh and HEY, don't forget to review. I'll bake y'all cookies! **

The man- Boris, as I had originally called him, was actually named Paul. He was thirty four, had spent some time with the IRA, and had a weird sort of an _ardor_ for Mexican food. I learned all of this as he pointed a gun at my head while I got fully dressed. Paul zip-tied Murph's hands behind his back and made him sit on the floor as soon as he had pulled on the rest of his clothes.

"So… let me get something straight." Paul looked down at Murph while keeping his gun on me. "That's your brother's girl? And you're fucking her?"

Murph's jaw was set tight, staring a hole through the floor. "Hey man. I'm not judging you. She's a _great_ fuck." My hands balled into fists at my sides. _If only I could lay into the prick…_ But I couldn't do that. What if he shot Murphy? Shot me? I couldn't find Connor if I was dead.

"How'd you find out our real names?" Murph asked quietly. Paul snickered. "It wasn't that hard. Hacked into the police station's database. Two guys with the last name McAllister, both involved in the discovery of three victims of mine. Dug a little deeper, figured out you guys were the ones from Boston. Have some family there, I know all about your _exploits_." He said the word with such distaste. "Nobody knows but me, so you're secret's safe."

I held in a bitter laugh. Our real identities were the least of our worries at the moment.

"Where's Connor?"

"Connor is fine. Relax. He's not dead- though I'm sure by the end of the night he will be."

My blood went ice cold. We had to find a way out of this- and somehow find Connor, and fast.

Paul pulled out another zip tie from his cargo pants. "Hands behind your back." Begrudgingly, I did as I was told. He motioned for Murph to stand up and pointed to the door. "To _das Auto _we go."

It was a long, tense ride into Dublin. Murph and I sat across from each other in the back of Paul's van, staring at each other, thoughts written out across out faces.

_We'll get through this. We'll be fine. _

His face was a mask of stone. _No. We won't be. Don't kid yourself. _

And I knew he was right. One of us- if not all of us- were already dead. It was strictly a matter of when and how.

Murph's whole body was tense, rigid. He hardly moved the whole car ride. As we felt the car decelerate, he bit his lip, as he tended to do when he was about to say something important. He leaned his body forward; I met him halfway. My back ached from sitting up straight for so long.

His voice was low, a little hoarse. "In case I don't get the chance to tell you later… " he paused, swallowed, holding himself together. "No matter how this turns out, I love you." That last part of that sentence was rushed sounding, like he was terrified of saying it aloud. I looked him in the eyes; his gaze was intense. Even though we were no doubt about to stare death in the face again, even though it was wrong to have the feelings he did, he meant what he said. He never It was all in the eyes. Those blue eyes- not blue like the ocean, no, they were blue like the sky on a cloudless day- they always gave him away.

_No matter how this turns out, I love you._

I had no answer to that. As discreetly as I could, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. It was the best I could do. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, stomach in knots.

_I have no fucking idea what is happening. None at all. _

The van came to a sudden halt. We toppled out of seats and onto the floor of the van. The back door lurched open, and Paul greeted us. "Get the fuck out here." There were other footsteps- more people. I felt a tremor in my hands. We were going to be separated.

"No.." I muttered aloud in horror. Paul rolled his eyes and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the van. Another guy, one I'd never seen before, hauled Murphy out, who was fighting like hell. It was futile. One guy held him back long enough for another guy to stick him with a needle. He went limp almost instantly.

"MURPH!" His name came out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

"Tranquilizer," said Paul behind me. "Harmless. Jackass will wake up within the hour. No point in screaming, he's not dead."

_Yet. He's not dead yet. _

He gave me a nudge, or what was supposed to be a nudge. It felt more like a very forceful shove. "C'mon. Get moving."

It felt like a death march. One foot in front of the other, leading to my certain doom. I lost all track of where Murphy was- I looked around for the men that had him, but they had vanished into thin air. I felt fear pulling at the edges. My breath came in shallow gasps. _Stay calm. Must stay calm._

We entered the building, Paul steering me in the right direction. It was dark inside, very much how you would picture an abandoned warehouse- Except it wasn't abandoned. The place looked like a cross between a chemistry lab and a place where you would take a cooking class; stove and sink units were installed and chemistry equipment was lying around. Apparently, this is where the drug was made. There was another level that a few people walked around on, milling about. Even from far away, they had the same deadened look about them. Security cameras were mounted to the walls; the place had 360 degree security all around it.

One guy stood in the middle, arms crossed and holding a file in his hands. "Conall!" I perked my ears up at the name. "Where's that asshole?"

I saw him out of the corner of my eye. A man with a five o'clock shadow, wearing a button down shirt stood up and walked to him slowly, shoulders rounded and hands in his pocket, like he _really_ didn't want to be there at that moment. He looked familiar…

No, not familiar. He looked _just _like Connor. I had to do a double take- but he had no tattoos, and he didn't walk with the same bouncy confidence Connor had. I was imagining things. It couldn't be him. We walked past the guy who I assumed was running the place. He gave Paul a curt nod.

"Got 'em both. Putting her in room thirty-"

"No, put her in room four. The one with the mirror. Torture the other bastard a bit."

_Murphy. _Fuck. What the fuck were they going to do to him? I flashed back to the time when he came home after trying his hand at undercover work at a Russian bar. They fucked him up. Royally. Stabs wounds, stitches, bruises- probably had a cracked rib or two. But he had made it out alive. He could make it out alive again. He _had _to.

Paul walked me down a hallway, away from the rest of the warehouse. There were doors everywhere, all numbered in a random order. The place was a regular hedge maze from what I could tell, except in hedge mazes there weren't people armed to the teeth and ready to kill you.

We stopped at a door labeled '4' in stenciled spray paint. Paul opened the door and pushed me inside. "I'll be back for you soon. Hang tight, Ericka." He shut the door and locked it, trapping me.

The room was a concrete box, complete with a mattress on the floor and a filthy mirror on the wall. No doubt it was a two way one. Psycho would want to watch, observe his subjects. I felt a little nauseated. The door was solid steel; there was no way I was breaking out through that. The mirror had to be bulletproof. There was an air vent at the very top of the room, ten feet above me. Literally, I had no way out.

Plan, I needed to do that. Paul said he was going to come back. I stared at the door. It created a blind spot. I could sit against that wall, jump him when he comes in, run out of the room. Assuming Paul still had his weapons, I'd have to take those off his person, load them and get the fuck out. I'd have to do all of this in less than thirty seconds, and the guy was huge. He would eat me alive.

_Okay. I'm so totally fucked. But it won't stop me from trying. _

Sudden sounds interrupted my train of thought. I kept up my frantic pacing, in case someone was watching, straining to hear. It was coming from the room connected to the one I was in; muffled voices. I barely breathed. Someone was bellowing. "Mother fucker! I'll fucking kill you if you hurt her!"

_Murphy. _

My heart pounded. He could see me. Maybe I could convey a message to him somehow.

I kept pacing, kept listening. Unfortunately, I forgot all about my plan to get the upper hand on Paul. The door opened and he waltzed in. I froze in place as he shut the door and stared at me hungrily. "I hope you're ready for me. I'll make sure you remember this time." He shook his head almost sadly. "If only you had gone the first time, I wouldn't have to kill you twice." And then he cocked his head at me. "How did you survive?"

A smirk found it's way to my lips. "I had saints on my side." At the time, I thought I was clever. In retrospect, I guess it wasn't as cryptic as I thought. Actually, in retrospect, it sounded kind of gay.

"Figures. I'd love to see your saints save you this time. Because you know what? You're all mine now."

"Go fuck yourself!"

I guess that pissed him off. "You fucking slut! Come here!" I took several steps backwards, bumping into the mattress and falling over onto it. He pulled out a knife. "Better be a good girl now."

"Or what?" I spat. "You'll kill me?"

His eyes glinted. "Or worse." He moved towards the mattress, unbuckling his belt with one hand, staring. I had to be smart, had to wait to make my move…

He crouched down in front of me, leaning over me. "I'll make sure you enjoy it, don't worry."

"I'm sure I will." I said sweetly. And then I head butted him and pushed him off of me. I really wish I had know beforehand that head butting someone _really_ hurt. I saw stars as I stumbled to another corner of the room. I heard him move clumsily across the room. I watched him with blurry vision, moving out of his line of fire the best I could.

His knife was on the floor. I glanced up at him long enough to make sure he hadn't seen, then lunged for it in a weird, almost gymnast kind of move, rolling across the floor. If the situation hadn't been so serious I would've made fun of myself.

Paul had recovered, staring down at me. "Clever girl. Clever, but dumb-"

A loud _bang! _from the air vent made us both look up in alarm. A body half crawled, half jumped from the vent, landing on the mattress and running right towards Paul. Another body landed on the mattress and was up, right behind the other guy.

_Who the fuck are these guys? _

I stared as they, in turn, brutally beat on him. I almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the guy.

The two men stood up after Paul was incapacitated. Both of them had bloody hands. They turned to face me, the one with shaggy hair wiping his hands on his jeans. The other guy was the man I had seen earlier. He just looked at me, eyes sorrowful, uncertain and unsure. It came together then.

"Connor?" My voice came rather high pitched. He made a brave attempt at a smile before nodding. I felt like I supposed to be angry, or maybe relieved. I was nothing. I was numb.

Murphy stood slightly behind him, face set. He looked at me, gave the tiniest nod and turned back to Paul, searching him. I felt an odd twinge in my stomach.

Connor slowly approached me. "I… fuck, I am so fucking sorry." He wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my hair. He felt the same, sounded the same, even smelled the same…. But something wasn't right. I didn't have time to dwell on it.

Murphy called over to us. "Hey, guys. Not trying to interrupt anything, but we need to get the fuck outta here." I pulled away from Connor and looked between the two of them.

"Any ideas?"

"The air vent?" suggested Connor. Murph shook his head. "We'd get fucking lost as shit." He paused, then tested the door gently. It opened, swinging forward an inch. "Well, I'd say we walk out of here and make a run for it."

"With no weapons?"

Murphy gave a sudden mischievous grin. "Well, I wouldn't say that…."


	16. Ready, on Three?

**AN- Yay! New chapter! Read it! And stuff. By stuff I mean review, because it would make my day. =) **

**Murph POV**

Ericka stared dumbfounded at the round, tennis ball shape in my hand. "What kind of idiot carries around _grenades_?"

"One that keeps his options open," Connor said, looking almost amused by the whole thing. "What else has he got on 'em?"

"A pistol with two full clips from the looks of it, and a couple more of these." I looked to Ericka. "You know how to use these without getting ourselves killed?"

"It's been a quick minute." She mumbled. Both Connor and I looked at her with identical 'don't bullshit me' looks. "Okay, yes I remember how to use them," she snapped, "I just have bad experience with them is all!"

I thought it was something serious- maybe she had seen someone killed by a rouge grenade- but I guess I was wrong. "That's right… didn't you blow something up at boot camp?" Connor's lips turned up into a wry grin. Obviously, he knew something I didn't. It bugged me.

"Yeah, I blew up a set of bleachers because I can't aim! Cost me my grenadier qualification too!" She folded her arms across her chest. "Yes, Connor, it's very amusing. Now, one of you fuckers has to throw those goddamned things, because God knows I'm not going to be the one to do it!" She looked between the two of us, like she was watching a tennis match unfold.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me.

"I'll do it," I said finally. "How's this thing work?"

"Hold it in a death grip around the spoon," she adjusted how the grenade was fixed in my hand. "Flick off the safety pin, pull out the thumb ring, and chuck it. Oh, and then you get the fuck down because this thing can throw shrapnel two hundred meters… which is about six hundred feet and fifty feet, give or take."

_That sounds promising. _"When's the best time to use it?"

"To clear out an area. We have to have cover, and you've got to cook it long enough so it'll detonate before they can throw it back."

I snorted. "Gee, no pressure there." I handed the pistol and two clips over to Connor. "You guys can decide who gets the gun."

"He can keep it. Feelin' a little Rambo-like at the moment." Ericka held up a knife, a shit eating grin plastered on her face. I could only shake my head at her- a girl after my own heart. I felt an uncomfortable twinge, somewhere in my stomach.

_She's not yours anymore._

The little voice in my head tutted at me. _She never was yours to begin with. _

I scoffed to myself, hoping the irritation wasn't visible on my face.

"Anyway…" I felt Ericka's eyes on me. And Connor's. I did my best to ignore them. "Let's do this shit."

**Connor POV**

The thought of Murphy having explosives in his hands was scary. The fact he was actually carrying them around was terrifying. _Of course, letting Ericka carry them around would be disastrous. _

I smiled to myself. She had horrible aim- and as it turned out, she liked to throw things when she was pissed off. It rarely ended well. I felt the smile slide off my face. _Wonder what she broke when I left... _

We walked casually down the long hallway, towards the doors that led out into the main workplace. The reason Pete had decided to set up shop here was because it was easier to make the drug. It required a lot of cook time, and there were few places in the city that could offer the kind of privacy needed to run such a massive operation. He also kept all of his employees under lock and key.

It was apparent that he had known my real identity for a while now. It had to be the reason Murph and Ericka were here. This was punishment for 'losing' his street drug, and killing one of his newest drug runners. I had no choice in that particular matter. The kid was tweaking hard, and came after me, pointing a gun at my head. Self defense. I felt horrible about it. He wasn't innocent… but he hadn't hurt anyone either. Definitely pushing the boundaries.

"Watch what the fuck you're doing!" Ericka snapped at me.

I stared blankly at her. "What?"

"Muzzle awareness, hello? Had that thing pointed right fucking at me." My head was in the wrong place. I could mourn for Carson the street urchin later, when I wasn't busy trying to escape our former employer.

"Sorry, love," I muttered, adjusting the gun accordingly. She gave me a rather sharp glare before turning back to the front. Speaking of which, shouldn't I be the one up there? I had the gun after all; a couple welled aimed shots could spare us from having to blow shit up. But Ericka insisted that Murph be on point.

"He's got to be close enough to lob one of those suckers far from us. And gunshots attract attention."

Murph and I exchanged mutual looks of exasperation. _And detonating __a GRENADE won't__?_

We went with it, however, moving as fast as we could. God forbid the security cameras saw us- we'd be screwed then. Pete would have everyone after us instantly. I looked up at Murph, still holding the grenade with the safety pins in a death-grip. I glanced up at a camera mounted in the corner by the doors. The red light blinked mercilessly. Big brother was watching us. Soon enough, Pete's hired guns would come.

_Maybe it was good thing Paul kept explosives on him…_

We paused at the double doors. Murph looked back at us, biting his lip. "Ericka, switch Connor spots. More coverage that way. Just help us navigate our way through that shit." Ericka surprisingly backed off and allowed me to take her spot.

"On three, we go through. One. Two." Soft footsteps met my ears. Unfamiliar ones. I turned around and took aim at the source, pushing Ericka out of the way.

One of the new hires had his gun trained on me. I fired without much thought, clipping him in the shoulder. He crumpled to the floor, swearing loudly. I went over to him and grabbed his gun. "Have any more ammo?" He moaned in pain. I pointed the barrel in his face, cocking the gun audibly. "Do you have any more _ammunition_?" I yelled, enunciating each word.

"Pocket. Left pocket," he gasped. "Please don't kill me! Please!"

I dug out the two extra clips he had in his pocket and shook my head at him. "I could, but I'd rather not waste the bullet," I spat.

I left him whimpering there, walking back to Ericka and Murphy. Ericka had a very blank expression on her face as I handed her the extra weapon. She wouldn't even make eye contact with me. Murph stared hard at me for a moment then turned his attention back to the double doors. I frowned to myself. _I didn't think I did anything out of line…_

Murph cleared his throat suggestively. "Anyway. On three?"


	17. Rush

**AN- New chapter! Yay! Sorry it's not super long, but I've got a feeling the upcoming chapters will make up for it. ;] Thanks to my beta lacym3 for getting this to me so quick!**

**Other note- I'll be changing my pen name here shortly. Guess I'm going through an identity crisis of sorts, ha. **

We were halfway to the entry doors, walking slowly and attempting to blend in with our surroundings. The lobby with the industrial kitchens was virtually empty, one or two stragglers too focused on their work to notice us. "We need to hurry the fuck up." Ericka spoke in a low voice, undoubtedly gritting her teeth together. She only did that when she was trying hard to contain herself.

Connor wasn't making much of an effort to ease the tension. "Are we suppose to fucking _sprint_ through here and draw attention to ourselves-"

_I'm going to kill the both of them. _

"Shut it, both of you!" I glanced around and sighed, thinking of the first solution off the top of my head. "Run ahead, get outside, and find a vehicle to steal. I'll throw a couple of these on my way out." I looked back at them as we kept walking at a crawl. They gave me almost identical 'oh no you don't' looks.

"No way-"

"Fucking forget it-"

I flicked off the thumb safety of the one in my hand, silent. I think my point got across. Ericka gave me a hard look. "I'm right behind you two," I said, trying hard to not talk to her the way I was used to. Connor couldn't know about us. He couldn't. Reluctantly, they took off towards the exit, both of them glancing back before leaving the building.

A fresh wave of guilt pulled at me. After all of this was done, we had to talk this out. _I can't keep something like that from __my__ brother_.

_You also promised Ericka you wouldn't tell Connor. _

I couldn't think about this shit yet. I had more pressing matters.

I turned back around as the doors we had just come out of opened. I didn't recognize the guy that had opened fire- all I knew was that he was shooting a fucking machine gun at me. I ran to a kitchen area and ducked behind a fridge, pulling the thumb ring out of the explosive I held. Considering a guy had been hip firing an M249 Rambo style at me, and the fact I was clutching a live grenade in my hands, I felt oddly calm. I took a deep breath, stood up, let the spoon fall off the grenade and held it gingerly for a few seconds before chucking it in the direction of the doors. I heard the shouts of "Grenade!" and the various phrases that occur when you see an explosive come hurtling your way. Gunfire still raged on. Bullets hit the walls around me, sharp tiny fragments of drywall pelting me. I reached the doors just as the grenade detonated. From all the movies Connor made me watch, I assumed that after I threw a grenade that I'd be able to walk away from the explosion unscathed and looking like a badass. Ericka wasn't kidding when she said to 'get the fuck down.'

The explosion's force carried me through the barely open doors, propelling me out onto the concrete. I laid there for a moment, cringing at the slight ringing in my ears. Fuck, did my body hurt. I hauled myself to my feet despite the stiffness. I felt sweat rolling down my back. _Guess I was more freaked out __than__ what I thought._

I looked around for Connor and Ericka. I needed to find them, make sure they were alright. What if I made the wrong call? All I had wanted was for them to stop bickering, and to get out of there faster…

"Murph!" I saw Ericka running towards me. I couldn't help it. A huge smile broke out across my face. My cheeks hurt from the motion.

She all but tackled me, burying her face in my chest as I held her. I felt her tiny arms around me. "We're alright now," I said into her hair. "We need to get out of here, figure out what to do next."

Ericka pulled away. Her eyes widened in alarm as she looked at the shiny substance on her hands. "Murph….this is blood."

I frowned. "No it's not. Just sweat." I felt my knees shake a bit under me, head light. It was hard to breathe. "I'm fine," I tried to reassure her.

"Connor!" she yelled over her shoulder and started tugging at my arm. "C'mon, easy now. Let's get you to the van."

My vision was hazy around the edges. I let her guide me, though honestly, I thought I was just tired. _How long _has_ it been since I got a real night of sleep? _We rounded a corner, and there was Connor, standing outside of a van. He ran towards us.

"What happened?" His voice was a notch higher than it should have been, like he was panicked. _That's odd._

"I don't know. He was hit with something, he's bleeding horribly." I thought I heard a waiver in her voice, but I could have been wrong.

I was in an out after that. I was lying face-down in a vehicle. We were driving. I felt pain. White, searing, pulsating pain. Like a raging storm on the ocean, it just got worse and worse. Every bump in the road, every jostle of the van caused agony.

"Stay with us, Murph." I heard a voice say. "Fucking stay with us."

I wanted to, but darkness pulled at me. It was cool, pain free. I think I said, "I'm sorry," before tumbling headfirst into the sea of calm that awaited me.

****cough cough** **

**Review? **


	18. Pause

**Yay! New chapter! I promised y'all it would be long! And no worries. More angst and action and stuff to come. Thanks lacym3 for beta-ing. I owe her cookies. Probably Oreos. Because Oreos are the shit. I'm rambling now. Okay enough of that. Read and review!**

**Connor POV**

We almost lost him.

"Get to a fucking hospital, Conn!" Ericka screamed at me from the gutted backseat. I glanced in the rearview mirror; my stomach bottomed out, the way it does when you miss a step going down a staircase. Ericka hovered over Murphy's half conscious body; her hands were covered in blood as she gently pulled his shirt up over his abdomen, face pale.

"You alright, Ericka?" I said, concerned, only half concentrating on the road. A horn blared at me as I cut off another car at the intersection I had just blown through. Tough shit, as far as I was concerned. _They_ didn't have an injured body in the back of their SUV.

"Fine. I'm fine." She called back. I watched her roll Murph onto his stomach. He let out a cry of pain. The bumpy van couldn't have made him feel any better. The shocks were absolute junk. "It's alright, Murph. You're alright," she said soothingly.

Ragged panting met my ears. "Ericka," Murph gasped. "Where's Conn?" His voice was alarmingly weak.

"Right here, brother. Right here."

Ericka hovered over him, trying to make sense of all the blood. "Fuck me!" she swore loudly, apparently finding something she didn't like.

I didn't see the pothole in the road ahead of me as I looked back in alarm. The van bounced roughly, Ericka thrown back roughly while the seatbelt locked up, choking me for a second. Murph gave another moan of pain.

"I'm sorry! Hold on! We're almost there!" I yelled back at him. "Bí láidir." _Be strong._

"I'm losing him!" Ericka frantically moved him to his back again, taking care to prop him up the best she could.

"Stay with us, Murph. Fucking stay with us." The hospital was a block away. _Gotta make it there….gotta make it in time… _

We pulled up to the ER doors of the hospital. Ericka and I pulled a limp Murphy out of the van. Ericka sprinted ahead of us while I slowly started half dragging, half carrying him inside on my shoulder. A couple nurses and I'm guessing a wet-behind-the-ears medical intern greeted us with a gurney. I helped get him on the bed and they wheeled him away, the intern looking confused by the scene. Ericka just stood staring at the double doors he had disappeared behind, arms at her sides, face blank. I went over to her and set a hand on her shoulder. "He's gonna be alright, love."

She stiffened, shrugging away my hand. "Don't call me that," she said in a horse voice. I looked down at her hands. They were still bloody.

"You should wash your hands and sit down. I'll be right back, okay?"

She glared at the wall. "Walk away when things get rough." Her voice had an edge sharper than any knife's blade. "Yep. Sounds about right for you."

I did walk away- to the payphone right outside the ER doors, and pulled out a couple quarters from my pocket. I tried hard to not fume from what Ericka had said. I had been gone for two, almost three months- it wasn't difficult to see why she was angry. But it wasn't as if I had been given the chance to explain the situation to her; it wasn't fair she was jumping down my throat.

_She's just worried about Murph, is all. Give her time for the both of you to cool off. _

I slipped the corner into the change slot on the payphone and dialed a number that was engrained into my brain. I felt my own tiny flame of anger growing into an unstoppable wildfire. Now wasn't the time for verbal attacks. Ericka was being callous- understandably so- but _goddamnit_, couldn't it fucking_ wait _until we knew if Murphy was gonna make it or not? My stomach clenched up at the thought.

_He has to make it. He has to. _

"Washburn." Came the detective's snide voice.

"It's Connor," I breathed into the receiver, leaning against the payphone. My head ached, as did the rest of my body.

"Got any new leads for me?" asked Washburn.

"My cover's been blown."

I heard him groan. "Fuck, Connor. We almost had him nailed-"

"What the fuck do you mean _almost_?" I demanded. "He's got a fucking army of sick fucks working for him all over the city, his main operating base has industrial kitchens to make this drug- batches of it, just _sitting_ there. You've got all the fucking proof you need to get him." And then I really lost it on him. "Fuck, what the hell were you waiting for? For me to kill him? Or for me to get killed? Well I can tell you right now I'm sorry it's not me on an operating table, bleedin' out all over the fucking place-"

"Connor," his voice was stern, "What's going on?"

I took a steadying breath. "Pete found put who I am- who I really am. He dragged Murph and Ericka into it. Murph got hurt…"

"What hospital are you at?" he asked sharply. I looked back at the doors, realizing we were at the same hospital Ericka used to work at.

"Tá Súil."

"I'll be there shortly." He hung up. I ran a hand through my hair and went back inside, fingers and the tips of my ears cold from the night air. Ericka sat alone, arms folded across her chest. Pain- the kind you can't cure by slapping a band aid on or by popping a couple Tylenol- was etched across her face. Throwing caution to the wind, I sat down next to her in silence. Propping an elbow on the arm of the chair, I settled in for a long, tense wait.

One of the nurses that took Murph away came up to me with a clipboard a few minutes later. "I need to you fill this out, it's his medical history form." I took it from her in a daze.

Ericka looked up at her, arms still folded. "Iona," her voice was terse, "Can you tell us anything about his condition?"

The nurse looked uncomfortable. "Erin, you know I can't tell you anything." She cringed slightly. "A doctor will be out here to speak with you shortly."

Shortly turned into just shy of two hours. Murph's medical history was much less extensive than mine. I tended to get hurt more often than he did. Two concussions from bar fights at McGinty's. That was it. Well, that was it as far reportable injuries went. I could hardly include gunshot wounds, broken bones, or stab wounds from our Sainthood. I turned in the form and sat back down. The nurse named Iona brought us both cups of coffee. I sipped mine for want of something to do. Iona checked in on Ericka periodically, making sure she was alright. Ericka hardly moved, eyes glassy as she stared off into space. She looked lost.

Finally, a doctor wearing scrubs stepped out from the double doors, accompanied by the intern who looked as clueless as ever. Both Ericka and I stood up as soon we saw him. He came to us, looking weary. "I'm Doctor O'Rourke," he said to me, nodding at Ericka. It seemed she knew a good chunk of the staff.

"How's my brother?" I asked after a brief pause.

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "He's alive, but the surgery was rough. He… flat lined a few times," I didn't miss Ericka's sharp intake of breath. "But he pulled through. We have him heavily sedated, he won't wake for several hours at least."

"What's the extent of his injuries?" Ericka's eyes were bright and scrutinizing.

"He had a few pieces of what appear to be shrapnel lodged in his back, and a bullet dangerously close to his spinal cord. I'd say if the bullet was another millimeter or two off, it would have paralyzed him at the very least. It's also amazing he didn't die from blood loss; he lost quite a bit of it."

I let out of breath. "So he's gonna be alright?"

"As far as I can tell right now, yes. He'll be hurtin' for a while, but he's going to live." Ericka gave a nervous laugh and crossed herself. "Thank God…" she muttered under her breath.

"Can we see him?"

"Of course, but I do need you to answer a couple questions for me."

"Questions?"

"Yes," his tone went steely, "such as, what in the bloody hell was your brother doing to get bits of _shrapnel_ in his back?"

A dry cough met my ears. I almost rolled my eyes. Detective Washburn had finally shown up to save the day. He flashed his badge. "The gentleman in question was actually caught in the middle of an investigation Conall here was helping me with." He nodded at me. "All questions regarding how he came to be in this hospital can be directed toward me. Understood?"

Doctor O'Rourke nodded, jaw clamped tightly. "I can take you up to his room, if you're ready to see him."

"Absolutely."

"Conall will join you later, Erin. I have questions for him." Washburn spoke to her in a soft tone, much different from the one he used in speaking to me or the doctor.

Ericka just gave me a sideways glance and nodded.

They walked away to the elevators. Washburn patted my arm. "There's a bar across the street. I'll buy you a drink."

"I'd rather see my brother," I said bluntly.

He gave me a hard look. "I need to know what happened, down to every detail."

"Why does it matter? I can you lead to his warehouse, you'll find the evidence you need."

"We did, Connor," he said in a low voice. "Seized the warehouse and all it's contents and inhabitants. Pete is gone. On the run, presumably. Do you have any idea where to find him?"

I shrugged. "Some dark, dirty hole of a place. He's got hideouts all over."

There was a brief pause in conversation. "You do realize he might try to come after you?"

I scoffed at the detective. 'Might' left room for chance. And Pete took no chances.

"Let him. I'll shoot him right in the fucking head if he comes near my brother or my fiancé, you can count on it."

Washburn looked at me warily. "Whatever you do, do not- I repeat- do NOT go after him. The last thing you need is to be a 'saint' right now."

I started towards the elevator doors. "No promises." I said over my shoulder.

It took some doing, but eventually I found Murph's room. I entered cautiously, waiting for Ericka's claws to really come out at me.

She was nowhere to be found.

I found that the scene in front of me was startlingly familiar. The only real difference was that instead of Ericka lying unconscious in a hospital bed, it was Murph. Hooked up to wires, machines I couldn't identify. The monitor next to the bed pinged with every beat of his heart. He had a breathing tube shoved down his throat.

I sat down in the uncomfortable blue plastic chair next to his bed, praying and holding onto his hand. I wasn't leaving until he opened his eyes again. He would have done the same for me.

**Ericka POV**

"The gentleman in question was actually caught in the middle of an investigation Conall here was helping me with," Washburn said in a dry voice. I could only stare at him.

Investigation? Connor?

_What. The. Fuck__?_

The less than pleased feelings boiled up into something stronger. Resentment. Anger. Hate. How fucking _dare_ he _not_ tell us he was working undercover? More importantly, _why_ did he not tell us? It wasn't about him. It was about all three of us a whole; one dysfunctional unit, yes, but we were supposed to have each other's backs. He fucking _left_ to go play super badass, to run off and rehash his former life.

_Fucking. Asshole. _

The logical side of my subconscious kicked in. _You don't know the full scope of things. You can't blame him for any of this until you get the whole story. _

I sneered at myself. _The fuck I can't. _

Doctor O'Rourke interrupted my thoughts. "I can take you up to his room, if you're ready to see him."

_If you're ready to see him. _How retarded was that? Of course I was ready to see him.

"Absolutely."

I left Connor with Washburn, unconcerned if he wanted to see Murphy. What did he care? He was the one that got him hurt in the first place.

_Ah… there you go with the judgment again. _

We took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The entire unit was quiet; a place, reserved for the recovering patients. Dim lights and a few potted plants decorated the rooms, supposedly soothing to patients coming out of a sedated state. O'Rourke stopped in front of a wooden door. "He's got a breathing tube, and he's hooked up to an EKG monitor. He still looks pretty rough." He paused, looking pensive. "He must have a guardian angel of sorts, because frankly, he should be dead."

My thoughts went to Rocco. I felt the corner of my mouth turn up a little bit. "Yeah… I'm sure we all do." I smiled and bid the doctor good bye, stepping into the dark, cool room. My heart stopped for a moment.

It was as bad I had imagined, but somehow worse. I slowly stepped over to his bedside and just stared at him. He was pale, almost chalk white in the bad lighting, the blue veins in his arms visible. His face was scrunched up a little, like it did when he had a bad dream or when he was in deep thought. Tentatively I brushed away the hair from his forehead, half afraid I would break him if I so much as breathed wrong. He looked so damn vulnerable. I wasn't prepared for that, not after him having the strength for both of us for so long.

Memories of curling up in his arms flooded me, the feeling of safety and security that I needed in a time of crisis still overwhelmingly strong. I would have killed to fall asleep in his arms again.

"Wake up, Murphy," I said in a sing-songy voice. "C'mon now. Open your eyes for me. You know you want to."

I felt tears well up when he didn't miraculously wake up; I clamped my eyelids shut. I couldn't cry. No, I had to be strong for both of us now. It was my turn to be the pillar of strength, that unmoving mountain.

I couldn't contain myself. I had to talk.

"Murph, I know you can't hear me. But it's fine, because maybe I just need to get it out there for my benefit. Maybe it's better if you don't hear it. I don't know what I would have done without you the last few months. It's been hard… I don't know who I am, or who Connor is anymore. I don't know if I love him anymore. But…" a tear rolled down my cheek. "I do know who you are. You are the most irritating, most stubborn and probably the most bullheaded man I know. But you're also the most forgiving, the most beautiful, and the most genuine one I have ever met. And I know I love you. I don't know if I'm in love, but I do care. God, do I care."

It was too much. I needed air. I bent down and kissed his forehead before promptly bailing from the room. I took the stairs three at a time, all the way down to the exit, all but running out into the cold night air. I wiped my face off and looked around at the street in front of me. It was quiet, like the whole city was asleep. I shivered, rubbing my upper arms to keep warm.

There was a bar across the street; I could see the flashing neon sign in the window. Reluctantly, I ventured across the dead street and walked inside, eager to get out of the wind.

The bar wasn't particularly inviting. Dark and dingy, and mostly empty. I went up to the bar and sat down, feeling the press of cold metal against my back. I froze for a split second; I still had a weapon on me. A weapon, and no cash. _Sounds about right. _The bartender, a fresh faced twenty something came up to me. "What can I get for ya, miss?"

"Uh… a glass of water I guess. I forgot my cash in my car."

He surveyed me for a moment. "Nah, how 'bout a cup of coffee on the house? Just made it. And, no offense, but ya look like you could use a cup."

I smiled weakly at him. "Sure, then. That'd be wonderful."

I watched him pour two cups and set one down in front of me, the other held firmly in his hand. "This is how I get through our dead nights." He lifted up his mug.

"Sláinte," I muttered, taking a sip of the hot and slightly burnt tasting liquid.

"Got a name, lass?" He asked after a brief moment of quiet.

I didn't feel like pretending at that moment. I wanted to be truthful. "Ericka."

"Ericka. That's beautiful name. German, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He extended his hand. "Nice ta meet ya, Ericka. I'm Joshua." I shook his hand, feeling a little at ease. He was very likeable. And young.

"So, care to tell me what you're doing in a rundown dump like this? I'm sure you've got better places to be." His eyes had concern in them. He was intuitive, no doubt about that. Though it probably came with the territory of working in a bar.

"Um…" I thought of the best way to phrase it. "Someone close to me got hurt, trying to protect me and his brother. I just… couldn't handle being alone with him."

He nodded sympathetically. "We get a lot of people from the hospital over here. It's understandable, needin' a break from all the emotions you're feelin'. It can be overwhelming."

"Yeah… that's one way of putting it."

He cocked his head to the side. "There' more to, ain't there?"

"A lot more…" I muttered.

"I'll all ears. You're about the only soul I've seen in here all night. I've got time." He leaned across the counter, elbows propping him up. There was a silver band on his left finger. I pointed to it.

"Married?" I asked.

"Happily. Love of my life, my Emily is." His face lit up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good for you." His smile faded a little.

"What's the matter? No boy of your own?"

I sighed. "It's more complicated than that. I was engaged to one man, and moved here to be with him. His twin brother is close to both of us, and lived with us. Things got…rocky, and my fiancé left. His brother stuck around though… kept me from falling apart when things got bad." Joshua nodded, listening intently. "We…his brother and I got involved. It was stupid, but we did it anyway. It was like we couldn't help ourselves…"

"Like a moth to a flame. Or, to be less dramatic, a zombie to a living human." I chuckled at him.

"Yeah, something like that. Well…Connor came back. And Murphy got hurt before we could talk things out."

"Connor is the fiancé or whatever, and Murphy is his twin brother? Am I following you?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"So…you're in love with both of them then, and because you guys aren't into polyandry, you have to pick who you want to be with?"

I winced. "That's the gist of it. I guess in my mind it was a bit more poetic or some shit. You make it sound like something from high school."

"Not tryin' to. Just simplifying it for ya, is all." He looked me in the eyes, sipping his coffee. "I understand this ain't easy for anyone involved, but ya all need to be civil 'bout it. Ya and Murphy need to come clean to Connor, and Connor needs to come clean to you and Murphy 'bout what he's been up to. But this Murphy character needs peace to heal up from whatever heroic thing he did. Once he's recovered, _then_ you guys can sit down and have that awkward cup of coffee. Or beer. Whatever you prefer."

I glanced down at the empty coffee cup in my hands, suddenly feeling a little better. Joshua was right. The conflict could wait for the moment. Murph's health meant a lot more to me than any fight did. "Thank you, Joshua. I owe you."

He smiled and waved a hand. "Nah, lass. Just go back to your boys and be there for them."

I left the bar in considerably better spirits. _He's getting a huge tip next time I see him. _

Connor was sitting in a chair by Murph's bedside. He was talking in a low voice, holding Murph's limp hand in his own. I stopped short and just listened to him, not wanting to interrupt.

"I'm so, so sorry, brother. I wish I didn't get you dragged into this. I wish I hadn't left you and Ericka. No doubt you both want to kill me." He paused. "I'll make things right for all of us, somehow. I owe you that." His eyes flickered and found me standing in the doorway. "Hey," he said, voice weighed carefully.

I shrugged a shoulder. "Hey."

Silence followed. I sat down in the other plastic chair next to Murph's bed and held his free hand. Connor's eyes met mine for a moment. There was so much left unspoken, so much that needed to be said.

But it could wait. It had to wait.


	19. Floating

**New Chapter! Sorry it's taken me so long to get it posted up, I've had some serious writer's block. My beta Lacym3 convinced me not to scrap this chapter. So thank her for the update. Read, review, enjoy!**

Time had stopped, moving neither forward or backwards. That was fine by me. I was content to simply float in the nothingness. Occasionally, I heard voices cutting through the silence.

_Wake up, Murphy. C'mon now, open your eyes for me. You know you want to. _

The voice of an angel. Brief flashes of a girl danced in front of me. A beautiful girl with long brown hair and pale skin. I wanted to reach out and touch her, but when I raised my hand she looked at me sadly and just shook her head no.

A rough voice now, hoarse with fatigue. _I'm so sorry, brother. _

It sounded like a confession. Confusion found me. What did he do to achieve that kind of agony, that kind of guilt? Surely it wasn't entirely _his_ fault.

I didn't want to hear the voices anymore. I didn't want to think. Just float in the nothingness.

I couldn't float forever. Eventually, I had to go back. Go back to the sad girl and the guilty man.

Terror flooded me.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Can't breathe. Can't breath. What in the holy hell is this thing in my throat? Why are there wires and tubes attached to me? _

I squeezed my eyes shut. The lights overhead were blinding.

_What's the awful beeping noise? Shrill and loud? Someone, turn that shit off. _

_Where in the hell am I? _

_Ericka. Connor. Where are you? _

I opened my eyes and saw them standing by my bed. I clawed at the things stuck in my skin, at the thing in front. Hands held me down. Connor loomed over me, holding my arms down at my sides. He looked terrified.

"Murphy!"

"Nurse! Doctor!"

"You're alright, you're alright. Calm down. Deep breaths now, in and out…"

_I can't breathe, for Christ sakes! What part of that don't you understand?_

A man in a white coat came in and looked at me. "Calm down, son. You're in a hospital. You're safe." I stopped fighting Connor and took a very forced breath.

_Oh_.

It was kind of obvious where I was now. The beeping noise started to slow down at little. I lifted a hand and pointed to the obtrusion in my throat. I could fucking breath on my own.

"You want me to remove your breathing tube?" I all but rolled my eyes at him. He left the room, than came back wearing a set of latex gloves. The doctor hit a button on a remote control, and the bed shifted to an upward position. He gave me a concerned look. "This is going to hurt a bit. When I tell you to, take a deep breath and hold it. I will then pull out the tube from your throat and will stand by to make sure you are capable of breathing on your own." I gave him a thumbs up to show I understood.

He nodded to Ericka. "Grab the oxygen mask and tank and get it set up." Ericka left the bed and came back ten seconds later, tank and mask in hand. "Ready? Take a deep breath in-" I did as I was told, and he pulled out the plastic tube as fast as he could- not fast enough for my taste. I gagged as I felt it pass over the back of my throat. As soon as I could no longer feel it, I doubled over and started coughing. Ericka pulled the mask over my head and held it to my face.

"Slow, deep breaths, Murph. Easy does it now." My eyes were watery, vision blurred. I could still see Ericka, and Connor hovering behind her. I wanted to tell her glad I was to see her, tell Connor that I didn't mean to worry him like I knew I had. "Sorry..." My voice was barely at a whisper. And _fuck_ did it hurt to talk.

"Don't try to talk. You'll hurt yourself that way." The corners of her mouth quirked up a little as I batted away her hand and took the mask off my face. I started to say "I'm fucking fine," but the words got caught in my throat.

Okay. She was right. I was going to hurt myself. I settled into pillows stacked up behind me, giving the mask back to Ericka. She gave a nod of approval before walking off with the oxygen tank. Connor reached over and patted my arm before walking out of the room- presumably to have a smoke. "Glad to have you back, brother."

I watched him walk away, unnerved. His shoulders were hunched a little, hands balled up tightly.

Something was up. I didn't like it.

Several hours later, I could finally talk without my vocal cords wanting to fall out. Granted, I still sounded like I had smoked a carton of Marlboro Reds everyday for the last ten years, but at least I was able to speak.

"So, what happened when we got out of there? I only remember bits and pieces of it." I asked Connor. Ericka was curled up in her chair, well on her way to being asleep, eyes half shut.

Connor cringed a little. "You bled all over the place, we brought you here, they rushed you right to surgery….had shrapnel and a bullet in your back. Ya almost died, Murph."

"Like that's never happened before." I snorted.

"No, really… You flatlined on the operating table, or so the doctor said."

I shrugged, unphased. Honestly, the idea of death didn't phase me much anymore, not when I'd been at it's doorstep before. Death wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me, not after today.

Being pulled out a van, stuck with a needle, waking up tied to a chair and not having any idea where my brother or Ericka- whatever we were to each other at this point; that was one mess I wasn't up to tackling just yet- it was terrifying. The guy named Paul came into the room and fucked with me a bit. He taunted me the things he was going to do to Ericka- again, all of the ways he was going torture the both of us- that I could do nothing to stop him.

Helplessness. The inability to save the people I love. _That_ was far worse than death.

"Well, I'm alive. Let's not dwell on it then."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It would have been my fault if you had died."

"Yeah. It would have been." I said bluntly. Truthfully, I was still pissed as hell. However, I knew Connor was trying to look out for everyone, and had his reasons for not telling us. I just had to accept that for what it was. "But at the time, you thought you were trying to do the right thing. I can't fault you for that, and I'm sure she won't either." I nodded to Ericka, who was finally asleep. He looked at her and for a moment, he saw nothing but her. His face softened for those few short seconds; I felt guilt clawing at me.

"No…I don't think she will." He rubbed a tattooed hand over his face. "She wouldn't even talk to me. Just shot an insult or two my way."

"You know how she gets when she's scared, Conn."

"It wasn't fear. That was anger written all over her face." That shouldn't have made me feel better. But it did. _I might still have a chance. _

_I'm a fucking horrible person. _

"I'm sure she'll come around."

There was immense sadness in his voice. "I hope so, Murph." He looked at her again, eyes distant. "I hope so."


	20. Clean

**Mmm. Angst. Awesome. Review?**

**Ericka POV**

Murph was out of the hospital within three days. Doctor O'Rourke wanted to keep him longer, but Murph quickly shot him down.

"I'm not dying, Doc. I'd rather be at home," he insisted. O'Rourke caved, but not before loading him up with painkillers and random other medications and forcing him to agree to a follow up visit a week later.

Still, despite the fact he deemed fit enough to leave, he was hurting. Not that he would own up to it, but it was apparent from the deliberate slow steps he took and his constantly rigid jaw. When we pulled up to the house, he refused any help, all but swinging at his twin. Connor hovered right behind him as he limped from the driveway and into the house, ready to give any aid he could, even if it meant taking a blow to the face.

Connor was still feeling guilty- and that was just fine by me. The longer I could keep up the barriers between the two of us, the better. I was in no hurry to come clean, or to show him _what _I really was. Far from the _aingeal_ he saw me as. No, it would have to wait until things had settled down- and until we found Pete, or whatever the hell his name was. The guy was eluding capture, and from what I had gathered in the very brief conversation I caught in the warehouse, he wasn't the kind of guy to leave loose ends lying around. He'd be back. It was just a matter of _when. _

The house was in the same state as when we had left- an empty wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table, random articles of clothing on the floor. I felt myself blanch a little. Connor was still busy keeping tabs on Murph as he made his way up the stairs one painful step at a time. I darted into the living room, and grabbed the wine glasses and bottle, running to the kitchen. I threw the wine bottle in the trash and put the glasses in the sink, then sprinted to the living room again to hide the clothes. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. In a last minute rush, I shoved everything under the couch and straightened up promptly as Connor entered the living room, looking frustrated.

"What's up?" I asked, my voice an octave higher than it should have been.

He didn't seem to notice. Thank God. It gave me time to get my poker face on. "He won't take any of the meds O'Rourke gave him." He ran a hand through his hair. "Says he doesn't need them, but he freezes up every time he moves."

I shrugged. "You know that phrase, 'you can't lead a horse to water'? There's some truth to that. Let him cope in peace."

"Cope?" He scrunched up his face. "What'd ya mean by that?"

For how smart and intuitive Connor was, sometimes he missed the subtle things. Like emotions. He tended to gloss over those pesky things when his brain was on overdrive. "He's probably a little shaken up. Give him a break. If he wants help, he'll ask. Kind of like when you get pissed at someone and then won't talk to anybody?"

"It's just..._weird_ for him. He's one to follow 'doctor's orders' religiously." He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "D'ya think you can convince him to at least take the antibiotics? Last thing he needs is an infection."

I nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks…love." He looked at me hesitantly, gauging my reaction. There again, he missed the point. I ignored him and walked upstairs, intent on talking some sense into Murph, and taking a shower. It had been three…no, _four_ days since I had showered. I felt disgusting.

But first, I had more important matters to worry about. Lightly, I knocked on Murph's door, and after waiting a minute, let myself in. He was laying on his back, arms behind his head, looking as if he was asleep. I went to hastily back out the room, but he cleared his throat. "What's going on, love?"

My stomach bottomed out at the term of endearment. _I can curl up in a hole and die now._ "Um, I hear you won't take your meds."

"You heard right." He sighed. "I don't need any fuckin' painkillers. Doesn't hurt that bad anyway, not in comparison to-" He stopped himself mid-sentence and rerouted the conversation. As hard as I tried to not notice the fact he was wearing only a pair of gym shorts- I noticed. Instead of staring at him, I stared at a random dirty sock on his floor.

_How fucking inappropriate are you? He's in some serious pain and you want to jump his bones. _

_Fucking whore. _

_Slut._

I cringed to myself as Murph broke the silence that had fallen over us. "I'll take the antibiotics if it's absolutely fuckin' necessary, but no pain pills." He opened his eyes and met my gaze evenly, though his eyes were bright. "That all you needed?"

The dismissive tone in his voice was just too much for me. Even though my subconscious and good sense screamed "No!" at me, I crossed the room in three steps and was on his lap, kissing him feverishly. His hands were wound in my dirty, unwashed hair, pulling me closer to him. I needed this- needed him. So much tension, so much worry and uncertainly.

Fuck, I just needed it to go away.

We pulled apart; he took my face in his hands and shook his head at me sadly. "No more of this, love. Alright? We can't…. do this anymore." I stared to protest but he kissed me again, gently, slowly. A good bye kiss.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No. _

"I don't want him." I breathed, tears burning in my eyes. Was I actually denouncing Connor? Was it really true that the 'be-all-end-all' that had found me in a dark, dingy bar wasn't so permanent after all?

_It was Murphy who technically found you in the first place. _

_It was Murphy who technically introduced you to Connor. _

I couldn't even think straight. I didn't want to either.

He shut his eyes tight, hands moving to my arms. "You'll change your mind." He gently pushed me away; I took the cue and carefully climbed off of his bed, taking care to not jostle him, and walked to the doorway.

"Tá grá agam duit." I didn't know what he said. For all I knew, he could have been cursing me and I would have been none the wiser. He sounded pained. For a moment, I thought it was physical pain. I took a step over to him when he opened his eyes again, looking anywhere but me. "There's nothing you can do to help."

"Just let me-"

"You really want to help?" He spat furiously. "Forget we ever happened, that anything ever happened between us. You wanted Connor before? Well, you've got him back now. Make the fucking most of it-"

"I can't just fucking pretend it didn't happen, Murph! I can't just go back to life as it used to be, because we were all miserable and bored and fed up with pretending." If I was shouting, I was oblivious to it. I don't think I could have yelled loud enough to bring me to my senses. Who cared if Connor heard us fighting? Who cared if the ugly truth came out in the open? Fuck, what did it even matter at this point?

He let out a moan as he sat on the edge of the bed with some difficulty. "He's my _brother. _Do you get that all?"

"Do _you_? I mean, you didn't _have_ to fuck me!"

That fine line between an acceptable blow and a cheap shot? Pretty sure I sailed right over it. His jaw tightened up, fists clenched as he sat up a little straighter. "Oh." He said quietly. "So, I just _fucked _you, huh? I didn't spend all of that time with you, trying to put you back in once piece or making sure you were okay, didn't take the time to know you, didn't hold you through every goddamned nightmare and fit you had because I cared. No, it was sex. Sorry. Guess I had it all wrong, eh?"

"Had what all wrong?"

Connor stood behind me, arms folded and brow furrowed. I felt my blood run cold. I knew that this moment would come. I just wish it could have waited until a later date. _Fuck me sideways. _I wished the floor would have swallowed me whole.

Without missing a beat, I looked him right in the face. "We fucked." I said simply. He stood there silent for a minute. "What?" he looked more confused than anything, hands going immediately to his pockets.

"We-" I pointed to Murph and myself. "We had sex when you were gone. Twice. Why? Well fuck, I don't know. Maybe it was because we both missed you and were pissed you had left without a fucking explanation. Maybe it's because there was or is an attraction there. I don't know, and I won't act like I do. But there you go. There's the whole goddamned truth and whatever happens from here is all on you. Kick me out. Kick him out. I don't care what you decide at this point, because everything is so fucked-I can't fix _anything _about this."

With that, I left Connor standing in the doorway and Murph half doubled over on the edge of his bed, making my way to the bathroom. I want to say that I cried or that I threw up or that I had some sort of a reaction. But all I could do was laugh. Just…laugh.


	21. Steam

**An= SMUT ALERT! Yep. Sex is had. I don't normally write smut, but what can I say? It seemed fitting for this chapter. Also, my beta lacym3 is without the web for a while, so I'm posting this without beta awesome. If there are any noticeable mistakes, PM me and I'll fix them. Anyway, enjoy! And review! **

**Connor POV**

I wanted to fucking kill him. That wasn't hyperbole by any means. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was already in poor shape to begin with, I would have beaten my brother within an inch of his life.

My _fiancé. _

_What in the fuck? _

"Why?" I asked.

Murph stared at me, jaw set, propped up by his hands on the edge of his bed. "It was an accident-"

"It was an _accident _you guys _slept_ together? Why _her_? Why, Murphy? Why?"

"Why the fuck did you leave her?"

"You _know_ why." I said exasperated.

"No, you were gone long before Washburn came to you. You wouldn't look at her, much less spend five minutes in the same room as her! Fuck, Conn! You're clueless!"

"I'm not!"

"The fuck you're aren't!" he sat up fully then, wincing as he did so. "No, you've treated her like absolute shit since we got here! She's not a fucking housewife or a pet or whatever but that's how you acted towards her before all hell broke loose! She wasn't happy before you left, and she's sure as fuck not happy now. You left us here and we dealt with it the best we could. Don't act like it's a surprise that something happened between us." His eyes were chips of cold steel. "If you want to be pissed at someone, it should be _you._" He shut his mouth, face suddenly pale.

"Murph, you should lay down." I said quietly, backing down from our screaming match.

He grimaced and eased himself back onto the bed. "You've no idea how much this hurts." He said, eyes closed.

"You should just take the damn pain pills."

"Not that, dumbass. Look," he opened his eyes, sincerity written all over his face. "If you really care about her that much, go make things right by her. I'm saying that for Ericka's benefit not yours. I don't think you know have the first clue of how much I've grown to care about her. But I know that somewhere deep down she still cares about you and she'll regret not giving you a chance to redeem yourself."

He paused. "Better not fucking blow it, Connor." He shut his eyes again and put his arms over his face. I took my cue and left, shutting the door behind me. The rest of his unfinished thought lingered with me. "I'm not letting you get another chance if you fuck this one up."

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. I knocked on the door lightly, and without waiting for a response, went inside. It was hot; steam rolled through the bathroom, laying thick on the mirror. Her clothes were strewn on the floor. I watched her silhouette move behind the shower curtain, transfixed. A part of me wanted to see her, to touch her. I kept to the door, hands behind my back. Idle hands are the Devil's hands,as Ma used to say to us.

"Ericka?" I called out.

"Yah?" I cringed at her tone. Angry. Abrasive. Suddenly, the realization that a bathroom was probably the wrong place to have a heart to heart hit me. _I'm a jackass._ I was about to say never mind but she popped her head out of the shower, water dripping onto the floor. "Did you fucking want something?"

I felt something in me snap. Maybe it was from the fight with Murphy. Maybe it was from knowing he was right and that I had started screwing things up a long time ago. Maybe it was from living with lowlife scumbags for months and having to suppress the urge to kill them all on the spot… whatever it was, I couldn't contain myself anymore.

"Yeah. I do fucking want something." I left the door and walked the three steps to the shower, standing right in front of her. "I want you."

She glared at me. "Fuck you."

"Yes please," I said, bending down to unlace the boots I was still wearing; they were off in record time. I tugged off my shirt and threw it in a corner. Ericka stared at me. "What in the fuck are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" I peeled off my jeans and boxers and yanked the curtain out of the way. It was wet, clinging to her skin as she tried to cover herself up. I stood under the stream of water; it was hot. Hot water was a luxury I hadn't been granted in a long time. It felt like heaven.

She continued to stare at me warily. "C'mon, let it go. Let me see you." Reluctantly, she let go and stood under the water, arms crossed over her chest. I reached out and touched her face, thumb gliding back and forth across her cheekbone. "I won't hurt you, aingeal."

"Little too late for that." Her voice cracked, eyes bright. I felt a wave of shame hit me, but ignored it. Maybe this way, I could get through to her.

_Get through to her? By backing her into a corner? Yeah, that's some smart thinking on your part. Fucking idiot. _

"I fucked up." I said. "I keep fucking up, but give me a chance to show you…" I looked at her- really looked at her. Bones were too pronounced, and she had random bruises all over body. But she was still beautiful.

My dick hardened even more than it had been, distracting me. My subconscious waged war.

_Shit! Not the time for this…. _

_How is this not the time? You're naked with her, in a shower… and you two haven't had sex in months. _

_She's upset and you're harder than a rock. That's kind of-_

_Hey, Mr. I Wish I Were Saint-like! Fuck off!_

My teeth were on edge as my free hand went to her waist and pulled her closer to me. I wasn't too worried about boundaries or right and wrong at the moment. I just _had_ to have her, right then and there.

I held her face in my hands. "Please?" I was all but begging at that point. She closed her eyes and gave the smallest nod. That was enough for me. I leaned in and kissed her softly. Within moments, it was anything but a soft kiss; hands wrapped in hair, tongues waging war for dominance. I reached a hand down and took her nipple, rolling it around with my fingers. She made a noise; not quite a moan. More like a squeak. A squeak was better than nothing. I'd work with it. I knew just how to touch her to illicit the reaction we both wanted. My free hand roamed down the rest of her body and rubbed her clit. She made another noise; a finger dipped into her as I sucked on the spot right under her ear. She started to move her hips in circles.

That was all the invitation I needed. I couldn't wait any longer. No, couldn't wasn't the right word. I just didn't want to wait anymore. In a rush, I turned her around and pressed her against the wall, angling her ass towards me. She looked back at me, eyes wide. Instead of giving her reassurance or warning, I slid my cock into her and almost immediately slamming into her. She gave a startled gasp, her fingers scraping the tiles surface for something to grasp onto, mouth slightly open and eyes shut. I leaned over and captured her mouth in a kiss.

She began to move with me. It was fast and rough, bodies hot and slippery underneath the water. I slowed down, lingering at her entrance, teasing her, taunting her. "You missed this, didn't you?" I whispered in her ear, winding a hand in her soaking hair, right at the nape of her neck.

She turned around, eyes colder than steel. "He was better." She spat.

I didn't give her or myself time to think about the hit she had just landed. I slammed in and out of her mercilessly. It wasn't about lust or longing anymore or showing affection. No, it was just about making my point now. I had her first. She needed to remember that. I slowed down again to brush the hair from her neck and bite down- not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. And then it was furious, mindless, emotionless thrusting until I got my release- violent and unfulfilling. I pulled out, rinsed off under the water, and got out of the shower. I left my clothes on the floor and walked out of the bathroom, naked and still dripping wet, heading towards the bedroom, not really knowing if I could call it 'my' bedroom anymore but not really caring.

After finding a pair of boxers in the dresser drawer, I cocooned myself in the blankets on the bed, hiding. I tried to feel guilty, or ashamed, or angry.

I just felt… hollow. No emotion. No feeling.

Just…nothing.


	22. News

**AN- Unbeta'd. Apologies for any spelling/grammar errors. :(**

**Ericka POV**

Marked. Branded, like an animal.

I stared in the mirror at the mark on my neck. Three days later and it still looked brand new. Sighing, I unscrewed the cap on the foundation bottle and proceeded to dab the liquid on my neck. It was futile to try and cover it up, I knew, but it gave me a feeling of calm. Of control. I needed that.

There was a light knock at the door. I ignored it, applying foundation to the circles under my eyes. I hadn't slept much in the last few days.

The knocking came again. "Ericka?" came Murph's voice. "Can I come in?" His voice was hesitant, trying hard to not sounding demanding.

"Yeah. C'mon in."

He walked in and shut the door quietly behind him. He was still a little slow moving, but for the most part you could hardly tell he was recovering from a gunshot wound and shrapnel lodged in his back. He sat down on the toilet lid, leaning back, arms folded behind his head.

"Doin' alright, love?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. I shrugged, applying eyeliner.

"You know, that really doesn't tell me anything."

"Nothing to tell, really."

And there wasn't really. Connor had crossed a line; the proof was on my neck. I didn't care either way if he felt anything- guilt or satisfaction. I didn't really care he was there. I mean…he was alive. That was enough for me to know.

Or maybe apathy was just how I decided to cope this time around.

Murph glanced up at me. "Where you going?"

"I'm meeting someone." I said vaguely. He looked concerned. "Who?"

"A coworker."

"A guy?"

"No."

"Then… why all the makeup? You don't need it."

I swiped on a light red lipstick, rolling my eyes. "Can't go out looking like shit." I took my hair out of the clip it was in and turned to him. "Need anything from town?"

"No, but I think I should come with you. Pete's still out there."

_That's actually what I'm counting on. But you don't need to know that. _

"I'll be fine. Have a little faith in me."

He got up and stood in front of me, hands in his pockets. "Faith isn't the issue, love. Your safety is the issue."

I glared up at him. "I can take care of myself. You know that."

"Still…" he sighed and pulled me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head against his chest. He was warm, pleasantly so. "I love you." he murmured into my hair. I didn't know what to say.

"You too." I pulled away and gave him a small smile before stepping out of the bathroom, grabbing my things, and leaving the house, all the while moving as fast as I could before Murphy- or God forbid- Connor stopped me.

I didn't miss the slightly hurt look on Murph's face. What else could I say though? It was all a jumbled mess. Nothing made sense and to give him solid answers when I didn't have them would have been cruel.

I wasn't sure of anything. The only thing I was sure of was that Pete had to go- and I had a plan to make him disappear. I hoped it was a good plan.

I parked my car across the street from a bar and lit a cigarette with slightly shaking hands. _I don't have the first clue of what I'm doing._

_What AM I doing? I should ask Connor and Murph for some guidance, some advice here. _

Movement from across the street caught my attention. Pete, walking into the bar, looking a smug. I felt something in my snap. _That's the man responsible for the death of those innocent girls. That's the man responsible for tearing my world apart. _

Without another thought, I stepped out of the car and followed him inside.

**Murph POV**

The makeup, the tight fitting clothes, her detached manner towards me- something was up. I knew it. I shouldn't have let her leave the house- but then again, I couldn't force her to stay at home.

I tried to sleep. When I did doze off, I would wake up on the wrong side of the bed, thinking that I had rolled over on top of Ericka- only to find that she wasn't there. I scolded myself.

_Dependent much?_

I got out of bed and wandered downstairs for a while. Connor was on the couch in the living room, asleep while an infomercial for a blender played on the TV screen. He held a picture in his hand, like he had been gazing at it before he passed out. I pried it out of his grasp and went to put it back on the shelf. Glancing down, I saw it was the photo of him and Ericka, the one where they looked stupidly happy and in love with each other. I felt a twinge of guilt; I had a part in tampering with their happiness. I took the blanket draped over the back of the couch and laid it on him and shut off the TV.

I went to the kitchen. No dishes in the sink. Nothing to clean up, throw out, or otherwise organize. I wasn't a clean freak my any means, but at least it would have been something to occupy my time with. A bottle of some alcohol sat on the counter- whiskey more than likely, I wasn't paying much attention. I took a couple shots, mostly to help me sleep. My sketchpad sat on the table. I frowned to myself. How long had it been since I had picked up that damn thing? I sat down and picked up a pen and started drawing. Charcoal would have been better, but I had no idea where in the house I had put my art supplies. _A pen will work anyway…I'll only be a second._

"What are you doing up?"

I looked up and saw Connor shuffling over to the coffeemaker, not even a quarter of the way to awake.

"Uh…" I looked down at the paper in front of me. Skyscrapers and busy city streets greeted me in black ballpoint pen. I had drawn Boston. "Drawing, apparently. What fucking time is it?" I rubbed my eyes.

"Seven."

"Oh… Been up all fuckin' night." The coffeemaker groaned and started to drip coffee.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I dunno… couldn't sleep I guess."

Silence fell on us. I stared off blankly at a wall while Connor paced in front of the coffeemaker; once it was done brewing he poured two mugs and set one down in front of me. A peace offering of sorts.

"Thanks." I muttered, taking a sip. Forty percent coffee, the rest of it cream and sugar- couldn't stand the shit otherwise. How Connor could drink it black was beyond me.

"Hey, did Ericka come home last night?" asked Connor. "Heard her car last night, but I didn't hear her come back."

I shrugged. "Look out the window?"

He did, pulling up the blinds. Sunlight flooded the room. "Not here."

"I'm sure she's alright."

He looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't convinced, but let it go. "Right… she's capable." He sighed and took a gulp of coffee.

The phone rang shrilly, bringing us both out of stupors. We stared at each other for a split second before Connor answered it. "Hello?" I returned to my coffee.

"Oh God…is she…. " my head shot up and the sound of his voice. "I see. We'll be over to see her today. Yeah, no bullshit, Da. See you." He hung up and looked at me, faced pained. "It's Ma. She's… not doing that great. Da wants us to come visit her."

Sadness and a strange sense of relief filled me. I loved our Ma. But she was getting up there in years, and she spent most of her life as a heavy drinker and a chain smoker. She was bound to go soon; thankfully she could pass with some dignity and sanity left. I knew Connor felt the same way.

Connor looked down pensively at his coffee, jumping as the phone rang again. He let it ring twice before answering it. "Hello?"

"Yes, this is Conall…Yes, Murtagh is with me too…" he made a face using our pseudonyms. It was comforting to see he had never fully gotten used to them either. "Why do I need sit down? What is this about?" His face went from annoyed to devastated in the span of three seconds. "No, there must be some sort of mistake. She can't be… no, I don't want to come in to identify the body, she's NOT FUCKING DEAD!" A cold chill passed through me. I got out of my chair and moved as fast I could to Connor, taking the phone out his hand. "This is Murph- Murtagh." _Fucking pseudonyms. Gets me everytime. _

"This is Iona from Ta Suil hospital… Murtagh, I'm sorry to have to tell you like this…" her voice increased in pitch. "Erin came into the ER with several stabs wounds… we operated on her to stop the internal bleeding… but she wasn't able to pull through."

I was cold suddenly. It was a lie. It had to be. She couldn't be dead. Not Ericka. I pulled in a shaky breath. "What do we have to do?" My lips felt numb, like I had been out in the cold too long.

"Come in and indentify the body…and we'll go from there."

"Ok." I cleared my throat and hung up the phone. Connor was hunched over in a chair, head in his hands. The scene was startlingly familiar to me. "Conn, hey Conn, listen to me." I put a hand on his shoulder. "We don't know it's her for sure."

"And what if it is?" He looked up at me, face tight.

The question caught me off guard. "I don't know." I answered honestly. My stomach churned. "I really don't know."


	23. Quake

**AN- Not much to say about this chapter. Thanks to my super awesome beta Mrs. Monster for helping me out with this one. **

**Murph POV**

We stood in front of the doors to the Morgue. Connor had his arms folded across his chest, face a mask of solid stone. I wanted to offer words of comfort but I had none to spare, not when my own chest was tight with fear and worry. Iona stood to the side looking the pair of us with concerned, red eyes.

"Ya lads don't have to do this."

Connor stiffened even more, if that was possible. "No. We have to." His voice was hoarse and scratchy. Iona gave a reluctant nod and then gently pushed open the door, holding it open for us. We followed her in, Connor trailing behind me slightly.

The room was mostly pale green tile and stainless steel, with harsh lighting; it was cold. A gurney stood in the middle of the room, the body lying upon it covered in a white sheet. Iona stood at the end with her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Whenever you're ready…" I looked at Connor for a moment. His jaw was rigid. I gave Iona a small nod and she reached forward and pulled the sheet down.

I couldn't register who it was at first. Her makeup was smeared, mascara and eyeliner black and a sharp contrast to her skin. It looked like she had been crying. It wasn't until I heard Connor let out a slightly strangled noise that I realized that it was Ericka's dead body lying there. My body went cold. All I could do was stare. She was so… still.

After a moment of hesitation, Connor stepped forward and bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry, _aingeal. _For everything," he murmured before walking away and out the doors at a frantic pace. Iona looked at me, going to place the sheet back over her face.

"No. Don't… please." She stopped short and backed off. I took a step over to the gurney and stared down at her. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. She was only playing a joke on us- a cruel, sick joke at that. It had to be. I reached out and touched her cheek. She was still warm to the touch. I listened hard, for maybe an intake of breath or movement.

But there was none. She was gone.

I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. I understood why Connor left the room so fast. The need for oxygen was unbearable, like all air had left my lungs.

"Do you need to sit down, Murtagh?" Came Iona's voice. "I can grab you a chair…"

"No… no..." I backed away, biting back the rage that swelled inside me. _I need to kill that bastard that did this. _

I found Connor outside of the hospital, sitting on the hood of our car. "We have to go to see Ma." His voice was flat, controlled- willing himself to not completely lose it. I saw it in his eyes- he was barely holding on, which I think was the only reason I was able to push Ericka to the back of my mind for the moment. We had to keep it together. We had to get it through it somehow.

I held my hands out for the car keys. "I'll drive."

**Connor POV**

I was glad Murphy drove. I couldn't focus. I felt nauseous and my hands shook. I couldn't get her out of my head.

The last time I had seen her alive, she wouldn't even look at me. The last time I had seen her smile… I couldn't even remember when that was. Happier times. It like those never existed. And now it was too late to say I say I was sorry, to try and make things right for her. Our second chances had run out a long time ago.

When we stood there just looking at her, I had half a mind to rip the sheet away from her- look and see if she had been fatally wounded, or if she was and alive and just looking for an easy way out. But she couldn't be that cold- nobody could.

I felt the car stop and heard Murph clear his throat. "Conn…we're here." I opened my eyes, not aware that I had closed them to begin with. Slowly I stepped out of the car and made my way up the steps to the door. Da opened the door before I knocked. Wordlessly, he ushered us inside. I heard my brother clear his throat again.

Da looked tired, the wrinkles on his face deeper than the last time I had seen him. "Boys, she's not well." He said as we walked through the house. Our boots scuffed the hardwood floors. "Maybe a day or two left. Understand she knows this full well. Don't waste your breath or hers on good-byes. Just make her happy." He peered at us closely. "Where's Ericka?" I clenched my jaw tight and just shook my head. Da raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning the knob on the door.

"There's someone here to see you."

"Who's that, Noah?" came Ma's voice. She sounded weak.

"Ma, it's us." Murph stepped ahead of me, a smile on his face. I wondered how he made it look so genuine. "Don't tell us you don't recognize your own sons."

"Of course I do, ya ass. Where's your brother?"

"I'm right here, Ma." I rounded the corner and pulled a chair close to her bed, Murph perched on the edge. I did my best to not look at her. I couldn't stare into the face of a dying person- I never could. But not my own mother, and not after seeing...her. I doubted I'd ever be able to say her name again.

"My boys… " she beamed at us. "Where's that woman of yours, Connor? I expected to see her."

"Um…" I stalled for a moment, not sure what to say. "She's hung up at work. But she sends her love." I heard Da shift behind us. No doubt he'd be asking what was going on.

She smiled and nodded her head. "I understand." And then her face was serious. "Boys, I don't have a whole lot of time left. I'm sure you know that. But I have something for each of you-"

"You don't need to-"

"We don't want-"

"Nonsense. It is my wish that you take these things. Do an old bat a favor and humor me here." We nodded and she again beamed up at us. "Connor, I know you and Ericka have plans of getting married and that you already gave her a ring." She lifted a trembling hand to point to her dresser. "In the jewelry box, there's a ring. There's only the one. Go get it." I did so. It was a thin gold band with a diamond chip in it. "It's nothing special, especially by what those broads wear these days. But your father gave that to me when he proposed, and I'd like for you to give that to her. Keep it in the family."

I gave the biggest smile I could. _This is killing me. _ "Thank you , Ma." I heard my voice crack a little.

"Now Murphy. I know you're not the type to settle down, so I'll spare you the gift for the bride." They both gave a snort. Murph had always been closer to Ma. Not that Ma played favorites, but her and Murph were two peas in a pod. "Remember that gun that you always drooled over and begged me to let you shoot?"

"Of course. Held that damn thing over my head since childhood."

"It's yours now. I'm not saying to go out and shoot someone with it," she gave a wicked grin. "Put it to good use."

Murph clasped her hand tightly. "I will, Ma." I didn't miss the sudden intensity in his eyes.

Later, standing out on the porch after Ma had drifted off to sleep, Da nodded in approval. "You did well. She'll be able to rest in peace now." And then his eyes were piercing. "Where's Ericka?"

"She's… she's…" I couldn't get the words out.

"Dead. Murdered." Murph sounded the exact opposite of how he did with Ma- cold, flat, and venomous. "Stabbed to death. If I'm right on who got to her, you can bet she was tortured. Raped. Fucking monster is what he is." He was actually shaking in anger, hands unsteady as he went to lit a cigarette. I wanted to feel that angry…but the guilt was too powerful for me to feel much else.

"Who?" asked Da quietly.

"A guy we only know as Pete." I didn't need Murph to tell me to know who he suspected. "I worked for him, undercover."

Da stared at me. "_Why_ would you do that?"

"Blackmailed by a cop who threatened to reveal us. I thought I was doing the right thing."

He shook his head sadly, rubbing the butterfly tattoo on his hand. "Find him, boys, before he finds you. He'll come back to finish the job." Murph and I both shrugged at that. What did our lives matter at this point?

"We'll get him."

"Damn right we will."


	24. Calm

**AN- I know, it's been a while. I'm sorry for the delay- life has been crazy and I'm just now getting back into writing. Also, sorry this chapter is so short... I just wanted to get something up so you guys wouldn't think I had totally forgotten this story. :) **

**Murphy POV**

Ma died the day after we went to see her. Funeral plans fell into Connor's lap, which I think was for the best. It gave Connor something to stress over- which was admittedly weird even by my definition of the word, using someone else's funeral to keep your mind off another's death, but so long as it kept him going I wasn't going to interfere. I couldn't help but think that part of the reason Connor worked tirelessly in making arrangements for Ma was the fact that he couldn't bury Ericka. She had no family in the states- with the exception of Smecker, but he hardly counted considering they were acquainted for all of two months; aside from us and a couple coworkers, she had no one in Ireland either. We decided to have her body cremated. It was…easier that way.

I focused my attention on finding Pete- obsessing over the few leads we did have, the few things we knew about him. The problem was that we knew almost nothing about him. "He never left the warehouse," Connor told me in a flat voice, when I'd asked. "He had all of us running things for him. He never had to leave."

"Do you know where he would go now?"

Connor had shrugged a shoulder and said in the same toneless voice, "No idea."

I was frustrated to say the least. I sat at the kitchen table, bottle of whiskey and a glass tumbler next to the yellow legal pad I was writing on. Facts, hunches, less-than-educated guess were scribbled out in barely legible handwriting. I couldn't even make sense of what I had written- probably because I was slightly drunk. I couldn't think about things sober.

Connor came into the kitchen, looking more wore out than I had ever seen him. After a moment of consideration he grabbed a glass out of the dish strainer in the sink and sank in the chair across from me, pouring himself a generous serving of alcohol. I snorted at myself. Who was I to call a couple shots worth 'generous' when I had long since abandoned using my glass and was pulling drinks right from the bottle?

We didn't speak for a while, just sat there he stared into space and I continued to scribble more nonsense. Connor eventually pulled the notepad from me. "Give it a rest, brother."

I glared at him. "I'd think you of all people would want to find the prick that killed….her." I couldn't say her name; I wasn't yet drunk enough for that.

"You know I want nothing more than to find him," he spat back. "But can we just get through Ma's funeral first?" He rubbed his eyes; they were bloodshot most days. His face was thinner. I doubted he was eating or sleeping much. I knew I wasn't.

"It's all so surreal," he mumbled, looking down into his glass.

"What do you mean?"

"Just… the last year and half…or however long it's been… first Rocco, now her and Ma… not to mention Jaime, Alice and her fiancé… it's like we're cursed."

"Oh come on-"

"Death-bringers. That's what the papers in Boston should have called us."

I paused for a moment, debating whether or not it wise to goad my brother. Then I decided any reaction out of him would be preferable, just so song as he wasn't… calm about it. "It's a bit cliché, ain't it?"

"Clichés are clichés for a reason," he said wisely before taking a gulp of whiskey so big I thought he'd choke on it.

I wanted to punch him, or beat some sense into him. I hated him for acting so ho-hum when I had a hurricane of emotions building underneath the surface. I pictured myself reaching across the table, grabbing him by the shirt, shoving him against the countertops and punching him until both my hands broke.

Instead, I poured myself more alcohol and went back to my notes.

**Connor POV**

Murphy had always worn his heart on his sleeve, so to speak. He couldn't contain himself when it came to feelings- even when he tried to hold shit in, he expressed it physically. I watched him pouring over notes written in his barely legible handwriting, full of cross outs, arrows and scribbles. His jaw was tight, like he was constantly grinding his teeth. Trying to talk to him was like trying to talk a two year old out of believing in Santa Claus- it just wasn't going to happen, and not without a lot of yelling and object throwing.

I left him alone, taking my own glass of whisky up to my room. I wanted to sleep, but I doubted I would. I hadn't slept since I had seen Ericka's body in the morgue. It was an image burned into my brain, always in my peripherals.

I laid down on my unmade bed without undressing. I was too tired for that simple, routine thing. I stared at the ceiling, tracing out the pictures the cornices made, trying hard not to think.

_It's my fault she's dead. _

_I didn't pay enough attention to her. I didn't treat her right._

_Murphy was right for her all along. I should have seen it._

_I miss her. _

_No. I miss us. _

A loud crash from downstairs brought me out of my trace. I glanced at the clock. It was late. 1 am. Reason and logic defied me_.__Is__Murph__completely__toasted?_ I stumbled down the staircase, feeling the fatigue in every muscle in my body.

"Murph…You alright?" I called.

There was no reply. I strained my ears for a moment; there was the sound of footsteps from the living room. Even footfalls, each one defined and pronounced- not Murphy. I felt a shiver of fear, and then sudden, boiling anger. Somehow, I knew who it was without the first clue. I grit my teeth and armed myself with a knife lying in the sink, hands shaking.

Pete. He'd finally come back for us.


End file.
